


In Your Line of Sight

by Mistflyer1102



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, All Marked In Each Chapter, Ficlets, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:47:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 91
Words: 124,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3464897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistflyer1102/pseuds/Mistflyer1102
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because a second can make the difference between life and death. Bond and Q navigate through various nuances of life both at home and on the field, and remain together even when it seems all is lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** None.

“There you are.”

James Bond repressed a smirk as Q jerked in surprise, nearly falling off the blue inflatable bed and into the swimming pool.  Sighing in disappointment when the tablet in Q’s hand didn’t fall into the pool, Bond added, “I thought you were permanently welded to Q-Branch, and didn’t even know that there was a pool down here in the headquarters’ basement.”

“James, James, James.  Who do you think added the pool in the blueprints in the first place?” Q asked as he turned back to the tablet, which had a mint-green gel-like case that Bond had never seen before. Turning so that Bond had a nice view of his exposed back, Q added, “Besides, I’m running tests. Perfectly legitimate reason to be down here during work hours.

“And M let you get away with the pool installation and the excuse?  Besides, you know I could always test your prototypes for you,” Bond said, walking around the edge of the pool to get as close to Q as he could.  The other man was wearing swimming trunks, but was also completely dry, which was not the case for the tablet.  His inflatable bed floated in the middle of the pool, making it tricky to get close to him. “Or do you not trust me _that_ much with your precious equipment?”

“James, the funny thing about testing prototypes is that we need to see the device _after_ the test in order to collect the results and compare data.  Hard to do that when the tablet is sitting at the bottom of the Aegean or Mediterranean seas,” Q said petulantly, and Bond rolled his eyes at the reminder of the last mission, which had resulted in James losing everything, including the clothes he was wearing, to the sea when the yacht he hijacked unexpectedly capsized.   “This case is supposed to protect the tablet from water damage _and_ project a radar signal so that we can easily recover it _when_ you lose it.”

“At least you’re adapting,” Bond said, tugging off his suit jacket and setting it on a nearby pool deck chair, toeing his shoes off as well.  “And the Aegean Sea incident was because the terrorist rigged his own yacht to blow, you can’t even blame that explosion on me.”

Q sighed before paddling with his hands to the deeper end of the pool. “I know, I know, and I’d rather you came home without your equipment than in a body bag,” he said before tapping his ear.  “Ready, R?”

Bond paused in pulling his shirt off to watch as Q promptly dropped the tablet into the water, leaning back on the inflatable once he did so.  “Now we wait for the results,” he said, eyes fluttering closed and limbs growing lax.

Bond took advantage of his lover’s inattention to finish pulling his clothes off, leaving his pants on as he approached the edge of the pool.  Instead of jumping in and alerting Q of his presence, Bond sat down and slipped into the water, enjoying the cool feel of the liquid against his skin before he quietly swam, calling back on years of Navy and stealth training to get closer to his dozing lover.  He slipped underwater once he was less than a meter to his lover, and then swam the last bit before heading back to the surface.

Surfacing, he pounced on the inflatable bed, causing Q to squeal in alarm as Bond placed all his weight on one side and caused the quartermaster to roll towards him. “ _James!”_ Q screeched before the whole bed turned over, sending Q into the water after Bond.  He aimed an ineffective punch at Bond, who grinned broadly before promptly swimming up. “You… you…” he spluttered as Bond resurfaced, still smirking as he caught Q in a loose embrace. “You idiot,” he finally said, settling against Bond, who adjusted Q’s glasses with one hand as he supported Q with the other hand that was wrapped around Q’s waist. Then Q seemed to remember something, and then said, “You’re just wearing your pants, aren’t you?”

“Thought you’d appreciate the view,” Bond quipped before kissing Q lightly, smiling as he brushed some of the wet hair back from Q’s eyes.

“Oh, trust me, I do,” Q said, wrapping his hands around Bond's neck before leaning in for a deeper kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

He couldn’t remember the last time he saw this much red.

The water scalded his skin as he kept his hands underneath the faucet, but he ignored it.  There was the faint smell of something burning in the background, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with it at the moment.  Although Skyfall had been a month ago, Q found he couldn’t be bothered with half of the things that used to make up his daily life, not when he was working overtime to at least keep his life intact.  Work kept the ghosts at bay, kept him from seeing M standing in his flat or in his office in Q-Branch or anywhere else where it wasn’t a good idea to have a mental breakdown.

_You knew what you were getting into when you signed up for this._

_So don’t be surprised now_.

It took a while before he heard two thumps on the door, repeating ever so often. He groaned, shutting his eyes against the low lights of the bathroom as he wondered if he was about to start seeing the dead ghost of every person he’d killed walk into his flat and stay with him. How did the agents handle this? “I’m sorry,” he muttered almost to himself.  “Just go away, I didn’t mean to do it…”

“If by ‘do it’, you mean ‘burn dinner’, then that can be excused,” said a vaguely familiar voice, the door swinging open almost immediately with a _thunk_.  The footsteps behind Q paused as the intruder assessed the scene in front of him, and Q could only imagine what the other saw.  “What are you doing?”

“Money’s in the tea tin above the stove, just take it and go.  A little busy at the moment, if you don’t mind,” he said, scrubbing furiously at a patch of skin.  He’d have to increase the security on his flat, there must be a seriously gaping hole if a burglar was able to find his way in and just walk right up to Q. Or at least he _hoped_ it was a burglar; if it was a Double-O agent, then it meant that the committee making the investigation into M’s death had made up their minds and decided that Q was nothing more than a dangerous liability. The chief investigator had been _quite_ clear about his intentions should Q be found guilty of treason.

He blinked when the water suddenly stopped, but as he reached for the faucet to turn the water back on, a hand snaked across his waist and gently pulled him back from the sink.  “I think your hands are fine,” the other man said, the two of them sinking to the ground, the hand pulling him flush against the other man’s waist, forcing him to lean back and rest his back against the other man’s chest.  “See? Clean,” he added, hand sliding up Q’s arm and holding his shaking hand out. "No more pasta sauce."

Q hesitated, his muddled brain silently questioning the fact that this intruder had yet to steal anything.  “You’re not here to rob me, are you?” he finally asked after a moment.

“No. I fear that an ordinary intruder wouldn’t have made it past the keypad, it shocked _me_ when I tried to gimmick it,” the other said as Q squirmed, turning around in place to get a better look at the man.  “Although, I am curious as to what you have stashed in the keyhole, it nearly pricked me as well,” 007 said as the two made eye contact, Q stiffening.  “I also turned the stove off, what little sauce left in the pot after being spilled was burning,” he added after a moment’s silence.

Q’s mouth had gone dry.  “Double-oh seven, what are you doing in my flat?” he asked, stomach twisting at the very real possibility that he was facing his assassin.

Something seemed to register in 007’s eyes.  “Eve was worried about you, you hadn’t made a peep in thirty days after fighting with M for a week to stay at work during the investigation,” he said, forcing Q to lean back on his chest.  “Since I’m on indefinite leave courtesy of Medical, I was the only one available.”

This was strange.  Very, very strange. If Q hadn’t been on the verge of completely losing his mind, then he would have questioned 007’s presence in his flat, much less the man’s actions.  This had to be another elaborate hallucination, one where his mind had finally snapped and was reassuring him that if 007 were to actually appear in his flat, he wasn’t a threat.  “So the committee hasn’t made their decision yet?” he finally asked.

“No. They’re still deliberating. M is fighting them to keep you, so I wouldn’t worry,” 007 said, keep his arm around Q’s waist as the latter tried weakly to get up.

“If… if they do decide against me…” Q began, his voice nearly choking at the words.

“They won’t.”

“Make it quick, just bloody well make it quick,” Q finished, swallowing back grief. He could feel his limbs shaking as he ducked down, bringing up a hand to rub his temples as he fought back the burn in his eyes. 

007 didn’t say anything for a moment.  “Very well,” he finally said, resting his forehead against the back of Q’s neck. Then, tightening his grip around Q’s waist, he slowly got to his feet, balancing Q as he did so. “You need to rest now, your staff have taken bets as to how long you’ve gone without sleep.”

Q made a face.  “They should be working.”

“And they are,” 007 said, keeping an arm around Q’s waist as he led the other to the small bedroom on the flat.  The room itself was dark except for the muted light from the world outside the curtained windows.

Missy, Q’s calico, was sleeping on the bed and instantly woke up when 007 opened the door.  She immediately puffed out, jumping to her feet while hissing softly.  007 paused in his tracks, and then gently guided Q away from the bed a bit to help him undress.  “Is that the famous killer cat Eve said to look out for?” he asked as Q began fumbling with his cardigan buttons.

“She was protective of Mum, it used to be the two of them for so long. Now it’s just me,” Q admitted, heart freezing at the sight of dried red all down his front.  “Oh God…”

“Shit.” 007 moved around him, nudging Q’s hands aside to finish unbuttoning the cardigan as Q tried feebly to push his hands away again, heart pounding at the sight of so much _red_.  He blinked when the cardigan was pulled back, and he didn’t fight 007 as the other pulled the cardigan off before gently nudging him towards the bed. “You should go lie down, assure Missy that I’m not going to hurt you or anything,” he said, squeezing Q’s shoulder slightly before letting go and allowing the younger man to sit on the bed.

Q looked up at him, the agent who seemed to blend in with the shadows. “Don’t forget your promise,” he said, carefully watching the hallucination as though expecting it to disappear any moment. He knew that in real life, 007 would never have agreed to it because he would not have shown up in the first place; it wasn’t a secret how close he had been to M—Mallory’s predecessor—and that he’d been devastated after her death at Skyfall.  Hell, the two hadn’t talked since Operation Skyfall; Q had been handling the unwanted attention from investigators and 007 had been lurking God knows where as he waited for Medical to give the all clear to go on overseas missions again.  Besides, 007 was doing joint night surveillance at the moment with 006 on a potential threat in London.

“You must hate me,” he blurted out, shifting backwards away from 007 so that he was fully on the bed.  “For failing, for falling for Silva’s trap in the first place when-”

007’s face was unreadable in the dark.  “You need to sleep now,” he said, leaning forward and gently pushing Q back on his shoulder. Missy growled, but 007 ignored her as he settled down next to the bed, pulling up a chair to better reach Q’s shoulder and keep him down.  “You said that Silva had anticipated our movements ahead of time,” he said finally after a few moments of silence.

Q nodded sleepily, Missy settling in the curve of his body as she kept her eyes on 007.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d planned the blast to kill my predecessor and keep me alive since he knew he could pull the wool over a younger, more naïve individual in MI6. If he could get into the system to blow headquarters up, he no doubt had access to personnel lists and schedules. He’d have known that I was supposed to go to Tanner’s office to drop off a repaired laptop, but I took a detour to get a snack first.  I was partway up the stairs when the blast went, but I was in the stairwell that came around from the back, which meant that it was more secure than the main staircase,” he said, yawning as he recalled the day in particular.  “Landed in Medical with a sprained wrist and a few cuts and bruises.” Wrapping an arm around Missy for both comfort and to keep her from lunging at 007, he said, “He was absolute shit at poker too, although now that I think about it, he might have just been faking it.”

“Oh? And how do you know that?” There was a definite note of interest in 007’s voice.

Q frowned, bringing up the memory in question.  “When I was still in uni, my friends and I went to Paris for the weekend, Alana had never been.  We played poker one night after lying about our ages to get into a club.  He was there, although I didn’t recognize him at first when you brought him in.  Anyway, we all started talking, during the game, he was especially interested in how I did my code work. Alana flirted with him the entire evening.  I know because Evan and I had to drag her out and that was that.”

“Did she love him or was it a passing thing?”

“I don’t know, we fell out of touch when I started running from MI6. Then she called one night and tried to help get me out of the country, but double-oh nine and double-oh two were faster, caught me before I could make it to the U.S. embassy,” Q said, making a face at the memory.  “I almost threw up when double-oh two got me, he caught me around the middle.”

“He mentioned that to me.  Said you took a groin shot instead?”

“Tried,” Q said, closing his eyes since Missy was starting to purr instead of growl. “He was stronger and I just had uncoordinated flailing,” he added after a few moments.

More silence, and then “Get some sleep, Quartermaster.”

It was the last thing Q heard before falling asleep, seemingly feeling a bit lighter for the first time in a month.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Missy! _Get down from there!”_

Bond allowed himself a small smirk of amusement when he heard the tell-tale _thump_ of the calico jumping down from whatever surface she’d settled on before Q caught her sitting there.  Drying his hair off, he skipped shaving and pulled on a pair of sweatpants before padding into the kitchen to find Q, fully dressed, turning back to the griddle now that the threat was gone.  Bond merely raised an eyebrow at the new scattering of white fur across the closed laptop lid—not a strange sight in their flat at all—before approaching his lover from behind and resting his hands on the younger man’s hips, nuzzling behind Q’s ear before leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek.  “Morning,” he rumbled softly, hands tightening slightly.

“Mm, good morning,” Q said, smiling softly as he turned to face Bond and accept the kiss.  “Sleep well?” he asked, turning back to the griddle to flip the pancakes.

“Especially after my gorgeous partner woke me up in the middle of the night,” Bond said, grinning unashamedly as his hands slid forward, fingers pressing gently into the dip of Q’s hips.

Q huffed, but Bond still caught the twitch of a smile. “There are extra pancakes staying warm in the oven, if you want to eat now,” he said, gesturing to the oven door with the spatula.

“Are you almost done?” Bond asked, eyeing the batter that was congealing at the bottom of the mixing bowl.

“About.  You can get yours now if you’d like,” Q said, nodding to the oven before glancing at Bond.  “I can get mine.”

“Nonsense. I’ll get both of ours,” Bond said, squeezing Q slightly around the middle, a hand creeping up the front of Q’s dress shirt while he freed the other hand to run his fingers through Q’s unruly hair.  Then, gently trapping Q between the counter and his body, he whispered, “What time do you have to go in?

“Ten.  No later, I can’t miss this month’s budget meeting,” Q said as he finally turned the griddle off and put the pancakes on plates.  Leaning back to kiss Bond, he said, “If you want, you can drive me in, and then keep me ‘company’ in the office,” he said, smirking suggestively as he ground back against Bond gently, earning a soft growl from the agent. Then he reached over and handed both plates to Bond. “Four more for me and some butter.  Coffee is ready, and I’ll set the table,” he said, delicately moving out of Bond’s grip, but not before grasping the other’s shoulders and dragging him close for a deep kiss.  Bond didn’t even try to hold himself back, he pressed Q against the counter again and only groaned when Q gracefully slipped out to get his tea and the cutlery.

As Bond began dispensing pancakes, he saw Missy jump down from her perch on the bookshelf and pad over to where he was standing.  She let out a soft _miaow_ as she rubbed herself against his leg before sitting down expectantly next to him, staring at his hands on the counter expectantly. Bond glanced to make sure that Q was busy before he muttered, “Easy there, Missy. I need to stay in Q’s good graces too, you know.”

“ _Mraow?_ ” She batted his leg once, looking hopefully at the tub of butter.

“ _No._ Not after the fish last week,” Bond muttered as he gently nudged the cat away with a foot as he finished preparing breakfast.  “C’mon, Q.  It’s only going to get cold the longer you wait!”

“One moment!”

Bond set the two plates down in front of their respective seats, pouring a generous amount of syrup on his before turning back to get his coffee as Q walked into the kitchen, buttoning his cardigan before he grabbed his own tea.  “Only Tuesday and I’m already prepared for the weekend,” he grumbled as he let Bond hug him with one arm. “I can’t believe tha— _Missy!”_

Bond looked up to see the calico standing on Q’s chair, front paws braced on the table as she gnawed on the edge of the top pancake.  Then, before either man could react, she managed to get the pancake edge into her mouth and then promptly climbed back down into the chair, jumping to the ground with her prize.

“Missy, you little _shit!”_ Q swore before disentangling himself from Bond and shoving his tea into the startled agent’s hand before taking off after her. Missy was a multicolored streak as she darted for the bedroom, a thin trail of melting butter and angered owner in her wake.

Bond only blinked for a moment before wishing he’d remembered his phone.  Eve never believed half of the stories he told her about the cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note:** This post (http://tepid-tea.tumblr.com/post/69343897484/that-sarah-is-such-a-cumberbitch) inspired this ficlet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Please don’t touch that.”

“Not for me?”

Q sighed as he glanced back to see James scanning through the few rifles that were still awaiting tests in the next couple of days.  “No, not for you.  Not this time,” he said, gesturing for James to follow him through the indoor firing range. He’d called ahead of their arrival to MI6 headquarters to get the few paper targets set up, and he was pleased to see that James had his Walther for once.  “And here I thought you lost it,” he remarked as he pulled the earplugs and earmuffs from the storage container.

“No, I held onto it.  It’s the closest thing I could think of to hold onto in a job that doesn’t allow for much sentimentality,” James replied mildly as Q made sure the door closed behind him. He turned back as James checked the Walther over, aiming it but not firing.  “How much work did you do with this?” he asked, opening the barrel to check the bullet count.

“Initial concepts and creation.  Testing had to be left to double-oh five, he was the only agent available who was close to your height and physique,” Q admitted as he looked for the ear protection gear. “A few adjustments were made after you completed your physicals, once we had raw data to work with.”

“And the handgrip recognizes your palm print?”

“Yes, and mine is the only other handprint it will recognize. Double-oh two has suggested making them compatible to only the double-oh agents, but I informed him that using this technology would be useless if one of you was to inexplicably betray Queen and country,” Q replied as he pulled out the storage container. “Why do you ask?” he said after a moment, looking up at the other man.

James innocently shrugged.  “Just thought that if you tested these weapons, you’d be as good of a shot, if not better, than the rest of us,” he casually replied, taking the earplugs from Q. He raised an eyebrow, and then added, “Assuming of course, that you even know _how_ to use it.”

Q scowled. “Just because I don’t test _all_ of the equipment, doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to bloody _use_ a gun,” he growled as he stuffed his own earplugs in. He stepped forward, moving to stand in front of James as the agent stepped back to let him in, and then reflexively relaxed slightly as James stepped forward again, almost caging him in. “If you do what I think you’re about to do, I can’t believe I walked into that,” he muttered under his breath without any vitriol as he took the offered Walther.  Rolling his shoulders back, he took the familiar stance and aimed, slowing his breathing as instructed, silently counting.

Then he fired.

He grimaced as the shot went slightly wide, the kickback uncomfortably jarring his shoulder a bit.  Q prepared the next shot even as he felt James rest his chin on Q’s shoulder, his solid, warm chest against Q’s back.  He tried not to let the feeling of James’s slow exhalations against his neck distract him, focusing on lining up the next shot.  He checked to make sure that all three green lights were still on—he hadn’t had a chance to check the status lights lately since James hadn’t turned his weapon in—and then promptly took his second shot, this time significantly closer to the heart.

Q started slightly when James kissed his neck before snaking his own arms around Q and folded his hands around Q’s own, familiar scarred skin brushing against Q’s as James steadied their aim and tucked Q into his arms.  Q turned slightly, to glance at James, and met startling blue eyes before James nuzzled against his face, gently pushing Q to look forward again.  Then, several heartbeats later, James pulled the trigger.

Not quite the dead center of the paper target’s chest, but close enough.

Q smiled even as he relinquished the gun back to James, sinking against the agent even as James smirked to himself and adjusted his stance to accommodate both Q and the task at hand.  Out of the corner of his eye, Q could see his lover focusing on the target in front of him.

James fired three times in quick succession, hitting first the heart, the head, and then the groin.  Then, because Q just _knew_ that James wouldn’t resist the temptation to use the rest of the ammunition, the agent fired neatly in one of Q’s earlier shots, barely shredding the paper further. He smiled smugly as he stepped back, pulling out his earplugs, as did Q. 

“Very well, that was nice shooting,” Q admitted, looking back at the three visible shots that James had made earlier.  Turning around to face James, he added, “Excellent skills with the Walther.” He raised an eyebrow, and then said, “How are you with a moving target?”

James blinked, and then narrowed his eyes.  “What are you suggesting?” he asked warily as he surrendered the now-empty Walther to Q.

Q shrugged with one shoulder.  “Well, there’s snow outside, Hyde Park isn’t too far, and all I have to do before we leave is check this back in,” he said, raising the Walther for a moment. Tilting his head, he said, “Loser buys dinner tonight.”

“Challenge accepted,” James said, smirking as he gestured for Q to leave first.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Brief mention of past injuries.

“You have five minutes, double-oh seven.”

James Bond stared at the blond nurse, Doctor O’Reilly’s second in command.  “Where is O’Reilly?” he finally asked, blue eyes narrowing.

Ellen Wilbur arched an eyebrow.  “Do you think he’s stupid enough to wander around when he knows you’re furious with him?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.  She hesitated, and then placed a cautious hand on Bond’s forearm.  “He only did what he felt was right for the quartermaster, MI6 is no place for a recovering amnesiac,” she said gently, removing her hand when Bond shrugged it off.  “Anyway, as I said, you have five minutes before he’s taken to St. Bartholomew’s, there’s already an MI6-cleared doctor there to take care of him.”  She glanced back at the hospital room, before saying, “Anna will stay in the room with you.  Just in case he wakes up, but other than that, anything you say in there will not leave the room.”

Bond didn’t say anything, just watched her leave before walking into the indicated room.  Three weeks of trying to break into Medical, and it still hadn’t been enough to stop O’Reilly from taking Q away.

The small room was dimly lit.  Anna, the nurse that Ellen had mentioned, stood unobtrusively in the corner as promised, eyes fixed on the monitors in front of her.  Bond ignored her for the small figure on the bed.

Q was unnaturally pale against the pristine sheets.  He had two IV lines: one for medication and the other for sedation.  The gash on his forehead and cuts on his face and hands, the ones Bond had seen when he charged into the partially collapsed bunker, were now gone, leaving behind small scars that would eventually fade with time.  Bond finally found a place to sit on the bed, and then stared at Q for a good thirty to sixty seconds.

“I shouldn’t have let you go, even with Lee and Will,” he said finally, thinking of 001 and 002, who had been assigned as Q’s escorts.  The former was still in intensive care; the latter was already six feet in the ground.  “I know it was a simple data gathering mission, but  _damn it,_ you of all people should know how fast these missions go pear-shaped. Especially when the terrorist has already made it clear he’s willing to blow up a national landmark for the sake of a show.”

A shift of movement in the corner of his eye: Anna reacting to his temper. 

“R’s going to take over now, he’s not ready for this at all.  He knows it too, but I think he thought you were going to be around a little longer, now he’s going to have to learn on the job the same way you did,” Bond said, swallowing down the twinge of guilt as he wrapped Q’s smaller hand in his.  He didn’t mention how M and O’Reilly didn’t anticipate Q coming back to MI6 either; the quartermaster had received such a hit to the head in extreme circumstances that he’d forgotten the last three years of his service to MI6.  O’Reilly had discovered this the hard way.

“One more minute,” Anna said softly.

Bond ignored her.  Instead he stood up, leaned down until his mouth was against Q’s ear.  “Q… Alex,” he said finally, slipping into the name that up until this point had existed only in Q’s memory and Bond’s knowledge.  “You’ll be safe from now on.  You won’t know why or how because you won’t remember, but you know you’ll be safe.  I…” He stopped, took a breath.  Tried again.  “I…”

The last two words kept getting caught in his throat.  Instead of finishing them, well aware of Ellen’s approaching footsteps out in the hall, he leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss against Q’s temple.

Then he turned and left, wordlessly brushing Ellen aside and pointedly ignoring the other few medical staff she’d brought to take Q to St. Bartholomew’s.  Eve was waiting for him just outside Medical, but he walked past without giving her a chance to speak.  Grabbing his jacket, he headed for the MI6 entrance, intending to disappear until he was called to duty again. 

_Look how well your charm works, James.  They’ll do anything for you, won’t they?_

**_How many is that now?_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you are curious, this ficlet was Bond's perspective of the events prior to _Fallen Shadow._ You do not need to have read that story to understand this one :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

Contrary to popular opinion, Q didn’t mind undercover work.

The problem was that he hated half of the disguises.

“ _All right, double-oh four is on standby and we’re awaiting orders,”_ R whispered into the earpiece that Q hid underneath his dark, slicked-down hair, part of which was carefully placed to hide that particular ear. “ _Bond just entered with the mark’s wife.  Good luck out there, boss, and try not to say something stupid that would make the Americans look bad.”_

“Like they need help with that, they’re renown for making stupid errors all on their own” Q muttered underneath his breath as he gathered the menus and wine list for the Fortunato al Pantheon, a high class restaurant in the middle of Rome. A popular spot for politicians, it also served as the only place that the mark’s wife, Kiara Roscoe, would willingly go out in public for.  James Bond was currently unaware of the recent shift in the mark’s plans, and Q had spent the short flight south encrypting the data onto a memory drive while his escort, the lovely 004, read her own mission brief. James and Kiara would arrive for dinner, and then presumably go back to the hotel that they’d spent the last three weeks staying in, due to Kiara’s paranoia about assassins coming after her and her husband.

This really was one of those few instances where Q hated that he had to be professional.

“I’m ready,” he said as he adjusted his tight-fitting waiter’s uniform and resisted the urge to blink his eyes, silently cursing the contacts to hell and back. “Double-oh four?” he asked, resisting the urge to touch his hair after tucking the menus and wine list underneath an arm.

“ _Trying not to gag,”_ came the crisp reply; although he couldn’t see her, Q knew that 004 was but one of the background patrons in the restaurant.  “ _But ready._ ”

“All right, here goes nothing,” Q muttered underneath his breath before straightening his spine, squaring his shoulders, and heading out into the main dining area. First thing he did was locate 004, who was absently humming to herself as she studied her image in the compact mirror and touched up her mascara and blush, looking every bit the scorned lover. Mentally reviewing his spiel in his head, Q calmly navigated the sea of tables and soft conversations, easily locating James in a corner at a small table for two, a candle between him and Kiara.  Q swallowed back the flash of jealousy as James laughed lightly at something Kiara said, their hands wrapped around each other as James brought her in close for a light kiss. Q chose that moment to sidle up to the table.

 _“_ _Buona_ _sera, signore,”_ he said, keeping back the smirk as James flinched at being caught by surprise.  James nodded once towards him, his eyes unfocused as he would with a stranger.  For some odd reason, that hurt. Mentally shaking his head, Q pressed on. “ _Benvenuto a Fortunato al Pantheon_.  _Nostra speciale questa sera è-“_

“Ah, _inglese per favore? Mio italiano é orribile”_ Kiara interrupted, glancing apologetically at James, who merely offered a trademark half-smirk in response and allowed her to wrap his hand in hers.

“My apologies,” Q said, reverting back to his normal accent to give a discreet warning to James in the impending shift in plans.  Ignoring James’ confused and slightly shocked expression—and Q-Branch’s stifled laughter on the earpiece—he said, “Good evening, sir and madam. Welcome to Fortunato al Pantheon. Our special tonight is-”

“Do you have the wine list, by any chance?” Kiara interrupted, looking away from James to Q. “I’ve been here before, so we only need one menu.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Q said, surrendering the menu and wine list.  He left the second menu on the table, still a little caught off guard from her brusque manner.  Avoiding James’ furrowed gaze, he turned back and headed towards the kitchens, repressing the urge to shudder.  “Did we have some phrase we were supposed to use?” he muttered as he slipped into the kitchens and headed towards the back of the restaurant.

 _“No, but Bond stupidly left his earpiece behind so we can’t warn him,”_ R said, and Q heard shuffling on the other end.  “ _We’ve had worse, we’ll manage_.” When Q didn’t immediately respond, R carefully added, “ _I’m sure it’s just an act…”_

“No, I’m all right,” Q replied, leaning against a wall near the storage area. “Just… just odd to be up close rather than on the comms, you can see the nuances in their body language,” he said, finally giving in and rubbing his eyes.  “And after three weeks of little to no contact on top of that.”

 _“Incoming,_ ” 004 suddenly warned in a low voice.

Q snorted as he turned around to hunt down the wines.  “Unless he has some built-in homing beacon on alcohol, he’s going to be searching for a while,” he said, spotting the bottles and approaching the rack in order to select something for 004.  “Scarlett, do you want-”

Somehow, he didn’t screech in surprise when hands suddenly grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back and up against a wall, pinning him in place. Sputtering, Q nearly yelled at the person when he realized that it was James, who was carefully studying his disgruntled expression and relaxed a moment later when he recognized it. “Jesus, Q.  What are you doing here?”

“Trying to hand over data concerning the mark’s plans.  We were still working on the transfer bit,” Q said, relaxing when James settled his hands on Q’s hips. 

“Are you here alone? How long have you been here?” James asked, carefully moving closer so that they were flush against each other. 

Q swallowed when he felt James’s cock press against his hip, but wrapped a hand around James’ waist to bring him closer.  “I’m here in Rome with double-oh four, but Q-Branch is on the line, so no funny business,” he said, nuzzling James lightly as the agent pressed closer, pinning Q to the wall.  “God, I missed you…”

His breath caught when James ducked his head and gently bit the skin over his pulse, hands moving back to gently cup his arse.  Q tried to stifle a moan, but failed when James pressed their hips together, brushing clothed erections against each other.  “You’re fucking gorgeous right now, I just want to take you and have you fall apart in my hands.  Except I can see it happen this time, since you’re all dressed up and put together,” James whispered harshly in Q’s ear, eliciting another moan as James ground their hips together and dragged his teeth down Q’s neck.  “It’s _satisfying_ to hear your voice break and start begging, but I can drag it out longer now,” he whispered, a growl audible in his voice as he sucked the skin underneath Q’s jaw, fingers digging into Q’s pelvis and voice rumbling in satisfaction when he heard Q whimper.

“James… James, we can’t do that, not here, not now,” Q managed to say before James kissed him, hands tangling themselves in Q’s hair as Q reached up to wrap his arms around James’ neck and _hold_ him, something he hadn’t been able to do in so long.  When they pulled away, they both were breathing heavily and James was watching Q carefully as the latter reached up and kissed him lightly, trying to slow down his own heartbeat.  “The mission. You need to get back to the mission,” he said quietly as James ran several fingertips down the side of his face. 

James nodded reluctantly, but didn’t move away immediately.  “How long will you be in the city?” he asked.

“A few days, to make sure that the transfer goes smoothly and in case any other problems come up.  Your objectives remain the same,” Q said, smirking as an idea came to him.  “In fact, when you’re done…” he pressed his hotel keycard into James’ hand, followed by the memory drive.  Leaning forward, he whispered, “Good luck. Now go before your date thinks you’re shagging someone else.”

James smirked when he tucked the hotel keycard and memory drive into an interior jacket pocket. “Well, I would be shagging someone else if he didn’t insist that I focus,” he teased before kissing Q once more. Q closed his eyes as James ran his hands lightly down Q’s side, as though memorizing Q before having to leave. When James moved to step away, it took all of Q’s willpower to not yank him back and kiss him senseless.

James seemed to notice this, and stepped close again.  He leaned down by Q’s ear, the one without the earpiece, and whispered, “It’s almost done. Just a few more days, and I’ll be looking for you.”

“Try not to get shot, and I’ll make the search very worth your time.  You’ll note the lack of hotel name or room number on that key,” Q said, grinning before accepting one more kiss.  “Seriously now.  Go,” he said as he gently pushed James away.

“Are you sure that you don’t want me to help you out?” James asked, glancing briefly down at Q’s trousers.

Q flushed, and rearranged the apron to hide his erection better. “Yes, I’m sure. Now go, shoo.  Find me, and we’ll pick up right from there,” he said, trying and failing to regain his former demeanor. 

James smirked before offering a lazy salute.  Q gestured for him to get going, and only grinned as James walked away, still looking as impeccable as he did from the start.

_Damn him for being able to pull that off so easily._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Remember the two rules. No head shots or hitting other people.”

“Q, I may not listen to you over the comms every time, but even I can remember two simple rules,” Bond said, falling in step just behind Q so he could check his mobile for Alec’s text— _in place and ready to at your mark. 1, 3, 4 and 8 are here_ —without Q noticing. He paused next to Q just before the steps on the other end of the small bridge that reached over the small pond in Hyde Park, and then leaned on the railing, ignoring the snow that fell. “How do we determine the winner? First person to get snow down the other’s shirt?” he suggested, smirking when Q wrinkled his nose in familiar irritation at the suggestion.

“James, I would like to stay dry today, thank you,” Q countered crisply, face scrunching up when Bond leaned close and kissed his nose. “Well, dry except for the obvious spots, I’m not oblivious to think that I’m not going to get hit. Especially when I saw Lee walking into the park earlier, and know for sure that _I_ didn’t invite him here,” he said, folding his arms across the front of his chest as Bond shrugged, unfazed at the implied accusation. 

“Like you didn’t invite members of your own branch, I saw you texting Marcela on the drive over,” Bond said, reaching forward to pull Q’s mobile out of his coat pocket, pulling up the text messages before showing Q. “Fine, winner stuffs snow down the loser’s shirt, and then loser gets to buy dinner, as we agreed back at headquarters,” he said, glancing over Q’s shoulder and nodding only once. “You stay on your side of the path, I stay on my side, and no hitting other people. Or head shots,” he said, careful not to react to a flicker of movement in one of the numerous fir trees behind Q.

Q must have seen it, because he managed to duck as the first snowball sailed towards the two of them, forcing Bond to dive to the left. Snow exploded in a white powdery cloud behind him, falling over the bridge as Q straightened. “What the— we didn’t officially start this yet!” he snapped, looking more indignant than irritated as he folded his arms across his chest.

“Yes, well, nowhere in your two rules did it say that we had to have an official ‘start’,” Bond pointed out, grinning as he reached behind him for the snow on the railing. “See? I was paying attention to your instructions,” he said as Q puffed up indignantly in his coat.

“Fine.” Without hesitation, Q bent down and formed his own snowball before throwing it nearly point blank at Bond, forcing the agent to duck aside again, dropping what little snow he had in the process. “ _Bloody double-ohs_ ,” Bond heard Q mutter under his breath before he darted down the snow-covered steps and promptly disappeared into the line of trees on his side of the path. Bond grinned before moving himself, not bothering to finish going down the steps the moment a barrage of snowballs sailed from the tree line. Instead, he leapt over the railing, ignoring a few surprised shrieks from the few park visitors nearby as he landed in the snowbank that led down to the ice-covered pond and ran to his tree line, a snowball nearly clipping his ankle seconds before Alec pulled him into safety.

“I don’t think I need to tell you that we’re hopelessly outnumbered, Eve’s been watching Q-Branch staff show up in the seven minutes it took for the two of you to walk over here,” he said, breath coming out in white clouds as Bond glanced up in the trees to see 001 nestled in some of the upper branches, wearing gray fatigues underneath his white jacket to conceal his position. “Tanner’s there too, although I think he was just minding his own business here at the park until Marcela walked up to him and ‘asked’ him to join them, she kind of dragged him away…”

“Any idea of what numbers we’re looking at?” Bond asked, gathering snow and scanning the trees opposite of the path for any sign of an individual as snowballs began flying in both directions, many techs already attempting to knock 001 out of the tree.

“Eleven of them, including Q, and seven of us, including you and me.” Alec shifted position as he gathered another handful of snow. “Not many other visitors, luckily, although there are children building a snowman not too far, Scarlett’s gone to mark the boundary for the game so that we don’t go over.” He glanced at Bond before suddenly throwing his snowball, the snow exploding against a tree trunk and startling a shadow to move away from it. “What started all of this, anyway? I thought it was going to be just us versus Q until the other techs arrived.”

“Q thought I couldn’t hit a moving target. Then I saw him texting Marcela for reinforcements, and thought it would be all right to even the odds a little,” Bond said, narrowing his eyes in time to watch a figure dart between trees. Without thinking, he stood up, aimed, and threw the snowball just ahead of the running figure, missing it by a hair. “Damn…”

“There’s another one. I’ll hit the trees, that usually smokes them out pretty fast since they run once they think their hiding spot is compromised,” Alec said, aiming his snowball as Bond constructed another. They both turned when another barrage of snowballs came their way, ducking below the snowbanks right as 008 was caught in the gut and knocked backwards into the snow. “They must have their numbers split so that they can keep these barrages up frequently,” Alec muttered as Bond pushed a pile of loose snow towards him before creating more of his own. “One group makes the snowballs, the other throws them. When does this end?”

“When I stuff snow down Q’s shirt. I’ll need cover fire for that,” Bond said, straightening once the barrage stopped again. Alec started firing at random trees, and Bond struck for the silhouettes that moved in between the trunks. Two went down, and a third stumbled, and Eve surprised them all by rapidly throwing her snowballs in quick succession.

“Go near the edges for that, we’ll keep them distracted,” Eve said, panting as she slid into the niche with the two Double-Os. “Double-oh three says that most of the fire is concentrated here, in the middle. Scarlett is not seeing much activity on her end, just mainly there to deter one or two techs from crossing. Then the pond is guarding our other side…” she added, leaning in between Bond and Alec for the new pile of snow right as more snow exploded overhead. 

“ _Fuck_ …all right, I’ll go. Just keep them distracted,” Bond muttered, moving to crawl on his belly across the small battleground.

He was careful not to react with his own snowballs even when a Q-Branch shot went wide. Q’s mobile rested in an interior jacket pocket, tucked safe against Bond’s body as he heard someone shriek on the other side. He risked a glance over the snowbank in time to see three young teens picking up and forming their own snowballs, two already sporting patches of white on their jackets as they retreated to the safety of Q’s side of the path. _Fourteen against seven, all right then._ Ducking back down, he remained still when there was a sudden lull in the fire, Scarlett holding a makeshift white flag to allow a few visitors to walk through towards the bridge. As she started to walk back to her side, flag still in the air, Bond lowered his head again and continued crawling through the trees, listening to the shouts and curses from both sides as the melee resumed, disorganized this time with snow flying every which way. 

004 had her arm raised with a snowball by the time he arrived to her post, only relaxing when she saw it was him. “If you’re going to cross, be _quick._ They keep trying the same thing, for some bizarre reason, and they’ve got rope,” she warned as Bond crouched beside her. 008 and 003 were now contributing to the general chaos by standing out in plain sight, waving their arms and drawing most of the snowballs towards them. “Snipers’ strategy, find out the source of the ammunition before firing,” she murmured as Bond tensed to run even as he stared at the two Double-Os. “Any idea why they might have rope?”

“Probably to drag me back tied for Q to stuff snow down my shirt,” he replied, edging out into the open slightly. “Cover me?”

“As always, even if seeing you with snow down your shirt would be rather entertaining. Be careful, no one can protect you once you’re over there,” she murmured back as she made a few more snowballs, adjusting her beige knit hat before gathering her snowballs into her arms.

“Of course.”

The run was perhaps only six seconds, but to Bond, it felt almost an hour. Several snowballs clipped his side as he finally made it behind enemy lines, and he didn’t bother to slow down, running through the trees before turning to the right and heading for where he suspected Q was hiding, his attention probably still focused on the fight. Two techs— _Heather and Martin_ —pursued him, their shouts catching the attention of two teens that were nearby. Bond raised his right arm to shield his face from the flying snow, managing to twist his hand and catch a snowball straight out of the air a few seconds later. He heard a faint shriek, someone shouting _“Run you idiot, before he throws that back at you!_ ” and caught sight of Marcela disappearing somewhere behind him, the third teen disappearing even as he threw aforementioned snowball at a tech who was working with two others to make more. _They have more than Alec knew. Damn._

The tech ducked, and Tanner had about two seconds to look up before the snowball nailed his shoulder, knocking him over. “ _Christ Bond!”_ he shouted, Bond already dismissing him as he spotted Q. His back was to Bond as he commandeered the two groups of four while standing on a pile of snow— _no doubt trying to get a better view of the battlefield through the trees._ Bond didn’t hesitate, just _charged._

“Q! _Watch your six!”_ Tanner suddenly bellowed right as Bond dove forward, hands outstretched for Q’s ankles.

Q squawked in alarm, twisting around even as he scrambled out of Bond’s reach. Bond landed in the snow, getting a face full of cold powder even as snow flew above him. He managed to twist around in time for three techs to pounce, shouting _“Alec!”_ with the expelled air from his lungs at the unexpected increase of weight. “ _Alec!”_ he shouted again even as the techs started to get up, giving Bond space to move.

“Off! Off him, cut off his backup! _Go!_ ” Q shouted before pouncing on Bond himself, forcing the agent to roll the two of them over until Bond ended up on his back, grinning as he looked up at Q, who panted as he placed his weight on his arms, pinning Bond’s shoulders down. “I’m kind of hoping that you won’t do anything lewd while in public,” he admitted a moment later in between pants, resting his weight solidly against Bond’s stomach, where he straddled the agent. 

Bond grinned even as he heard someone—either Alec or 003—utter an exaggerated war cry before presumably charging across the path. “Nothing more lewd than this,” he said before leaning up sharply, pressing his lips against Q’s before trying to twist his shoulders in order to upset Q’s own balance so that he could reverse their positions.

Q was faster.

_“Oof._ ”

Bond blinked when he realized that Q had slammed him back down through the shoulders again, and smirked even as Q resettled his weight back in his hips. “Ah, ah, ah, double-oh seven, nice try. Now you said that it had to be down the shirt, but not necessarily down the _back_ ,” he said grinning as Bond caught on; _shit_. “Marcela! Snow! I need snow!” Q shouted, looking up from Bond.

“ _Alec, where the fuck are you?”_ Bond shouted, looking up far enough to get an upside down view… just in time to see the three teens from earlier tackle Alec, the four of them tumbling over the barricade that the techs had constructed. “ _Alec!_ ”

“James, I’ll let you know when I’m sorry about this,” Q said, grinning before taking a handful of snow and scrabbling at Bond’s jacket even as the agent took advantage of the change in movement and sat up, reaching around to catch Q and keep him from falling backwards. “No!” Q yelped even as Bond used his other hand to snatch the snow next to him and _cram_ it down past Q’s gray scarf, all the while hoping that it went down all the way. Q screeched in surprise, flinching away even as he finally got ahold of Bond’s collar—both his jacket and shirt—and shoved a fistful of snow down the front.

_“Fuck!”_ Bond jerked back at the sudden cold down his front, and Q cackled, still laughing as he collapsed against Bond, the agent lowering the two of them back down on the ground even as snow continued to fly around them. “Was that a tie?” he asked after a moment, glancing to his side to make sure that the techs and Tanner were all right—he could see Alec and Eve pursuing Tanner—as 008 tried to crash into the impromptu snowball factory.

“No, no, I won. You just got the snow all crammed into my scarf,” Q said, moving to sit back up so he could unwind the scarf, dumping chunks of snow in the process. “Nice try though, I want a nice dinner tonight, understand? Maybe that lovely Italian place near the embassies?” he asked, settling back against Bond’s chest. “I’ll even dress in a suit,” he added drowsily.

“Sounds like a plan. Maybe we should stop this first?” Bond suggested, waving a vague hand towards the others.

“Nah, the techs were playing poker together when I texted Marcela, that’s how I got a bunch all at once. Let them at it for a little longer, the agents could also burn the energy off since I know they’ve been in London for at least a month,” Q said, leaning forward to kiss Bond gently. “If anything, today shows that all those contacted will respond in a timely manner in the event of an emergency,” he said, resting his ear against Bond’s chest as he remained sprawled on top of the agent, still breathing heavily.

“Can you _not_ tie something fun to work for at least once?” Bond asked, tilting his head to get a better look at Q’s face.

“No, that’s actually our excuse if Tanner complains to M, who will undoubtedly lecture me for misuse of government resources, aka you, me, and everyone else who is here and works for MI6,” Q said, halfheartedly waving Bond’s words off with an exposed hand.

Bond tsked softly as he reached up and covered Q’s fingers with his own gloved ones. “First, we’ll all go get something warm to drink, my treat, and then I’ll make the reservations for tonight…or soon, if tonight is full,” he said, resting his forehead against Q’s.

“I like the sound of that,” Q whispered, smiling before he kissed Bond again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second part to Chapter 4, but can also be read as a stand alone :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Semi-nsfw at beginning.

Q almost missed saying it, would have if James hadn’t reacted.

It was almost a whisper, as James brought him to climax, as Q tried to push back all the hurt from earlier that day in an attempt to forget an encounter that should have never happened. James should never have had a delayed flight home and Q should have been at the airport at the original time and not later. The whispered ‘ _Ryan’_ slipped through partially closed lips as he buried his face into James’s neck, his shuddering body taking the rest of his words and breath away. Then James slowly lowered him back on the bed, worryingly quiet as he stared down at Q.

“What did you say?”

Q caught on a second later, cold swirling in his gut as he stared back at James, the blue eyes as terrifyingly blank as the agent’s expression. “What?” he asked dumbly a moment later, shrinking back as James rolled off the bed a moment later and began methodically cleaning himself up.

“You heard me. Is Ryan someone you picked up while I was gone? Two months too long for you after all?” James’s voice was curt as he tossed a flannel in Q’s direction, the other man not bothering to try catching it before it fell off the bed. He frowned at a thought, and then said, “Someone younger, who can keep up with you?”

“Wha- no! James, no, _damn it_ , I-”

“What? You _what_?” Cold blue eyes met his own, but Q could still see the hurt there. “You’re going to tell me that you got whatever you needed and now it’s time to cut ties?” he demanded as he started getting dressed. “Can’t handle being with an unstable agent? I know exactly what Miller says about me, I see those psych reports,” he added as he pulled his pants and trousers on in one move.

“James, I would never _cheat_ on you. _You’re_ being the unreasonable one here, putting fucking words in my mouth,” Q snapped, frowning as he crossed his arms, as though to shield himself. “What I was _going_ to say was-”

“Who is Ryan, out of curiosity? He’s not an MI6 employee or I’d know right away who he was, and he’d know to stay away from you,” James continued almost thoughtfully as he finished buttoning up his shirt. “Does your staff know?”

“You leave my staff alone or God so help me, I will-”

“Do what? Sic another double-oh on me? Short-circuit my phone? I can get around those things, Q, and when it comes down to it, M will take my word over yours. Oh wait, you don’t like our personal relationship interfering with work. Looks like retaliation is out of the question unless you want to explain to M why we’re trying to kill each other in the first place,” James replied, a smirk gracing his features as he gathered his jacket. “A warning, about the change in the relationship parameters would have been appreciated, Q, before I came home to _this_.”

Q gaped at him, but kept still, aware that a riled agent was also a twitchy one. “Don’t let the fucking door hit you on the way out!” he snapped instead, flinching when James deliberately slammed the front door closed. Heart stinging, he leaned over the edge of the bed to grab the flannel and clean himself up, mentally berating himself and curling up under the covers. Not even Missy was there to comfort him; James usually corralled her into another room when the two of them were about to have sex to prevent interference, and Q didn’t quite have the heart to get up and let her out right now.

He didn’t fare better over the next few days.

First order of business was changing James’s personal information on his bank account, to keep the money safe but inaccessible. Q didn’t wipe his credit history yet, deciding to save that as punishment if James harassed even one staff member. He threw himself into his work, using it to drown out the white noise that was the anger and frustration bubbling under his skin. Mostly it was at himself, for letting Ryan get under his skin while the two of them happened to be waiting for their respective partners in the same terminal at the fucking airport that same day.

Q made the executive decision to move Missy to his office when he found that he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t _breathe_ in the flat while by himself at night, replaying the fight over and over in his mind. Missy, to her credit, quietly behaved herself with the myriad of toys and food in his office, which he cleared away and put Missy in her crate when he had visitors. Q used the excuse of testing critter cams on Missy for the purpose of intelligence gathering in places where agents were unable to reach as his reason for having her here in the first place.

He was in the middle of flat-hunting— _I’ve got the time to do it, James doesn’t_ —with a camera window open that monitored Missy’s progress through the obstacle course that the staff had set up when he heard the _knock-knock_ on the door. Frowning, he checked his calendar for the day to find that he didn’t have any meetings scheduled, but figured it couldn’t hurt since the office was still clean and Missy was out. “Come in,” he said without looking away, checking another window—Missy’s vital signs—before turning to face the visitor.

James Bond, well put-together as ever, stood in the doorway, stance shifting when Q involuntarily tensed. For a moment, neither man spoke. Then Q said in a steady voice, “If you’re here to hurl more insults at me, please wait until after hours.”

“Are you monitoring an agent?” James asked, nodding to the two windows open on his screen.

“Testing equipment. I’ve never done this sort of thing with Missy before, so I’d rather be safe than sorry.” Turning back to the computer, Q said, “I still need to focus, so please leave and come back later unless it’s an international emergency.”

He didn’t move when he heard James enter anyway and close the door behind him, stiffening when he heard the _click_ of the lock. “Please leave, double-oh seven.”

“Then you’ll sneak out before I can talk to you.”

Q scoffed. “And go _where_ , precisely?” he snapped, turning around to face James, who had settled on the couch, as he’d done countless times before. “Home? I haven’t been back in days, Missy stays here as well,” he said, turning back to the computer.

Silence, and then, “I found Ryan.”

 _Shit, shit, shit_ \- “Thank you, double-oh seven, for invading my privacy once again,” Q said, hunching his shoulders forward as he tried to ignore the agent behind him.

“Didn’t talk to him, just observed. He’s pretty good at his job, IT Division Chief at Royal International Exports. Record is a little spotty though, especially about four years ago. He’s gone clean since then,” James continued, eyes boring into Q’s back. “Made me wonder about yours.”

“We were young and stupid. I told him I wasn’t going to talk to him again until he cleaned up his act,” Q said stiffly as he pulled up a budget spreadsheet, to attempt to give James a hint to move out of his office. He shrugged with one shoulder. “There is a reason why I first fell for him in the first place, and seriously considered going back.”

“What changed your mind?”

“You came from the gates. You looked like shit, tired, bruised and worn down, but steady,” Q said, looking down at the keyboard, a smile twitching on the side of his face. “You have this look about you when you play games with the marks, and I’ve never seen it at home. Us, that isn’t- _wasn’t_ a game to you,” he said, correcting himself as he pulled up the window of Missy’s progress; she’d abandoned the obstacle course, and was making her way to his office. “Life’s too short for arguments, James, I’m not going to fight—or cheat for that matter—and cause more distress. I don’t have the fucking time or inclination,” he said, standing up and walking around the desk to let Missy in.

James caught him around the waist as he walked by. “What is it that you wanted to say, that night?” he asked quietly, studying Q carefully as a hand gently cupped his jaw.

Q hadn’t realized how much he missed James until now. The blue eyes were clear of any deception, as Q was used to seeing him, and it hurt for some reason. “I was going to say, ‘I wouldn’t cheat on you because you don’t deserve it, no matter how much you think you do. You’re as human as the rest of us’. If you had let me explain, I would have told you that Ryan was an ex-boyfriend who cornered me in the airport and asked me to come back despite already being with someone else. He reminded me of the good times we had, the potential future happiness we could have to make up for the bad. Everything from those eight years with him came back in that moment, and I hadn’t had a chance to forget it all, I was caught off guard.”

Both men were silent for a moment, and Q felt a twinge of annoyance when he realized that James had rested a thumb on his pulse. Instead of moving, James said quietly, “Maybe I don’t deserve you.”

Q sighed before leaning in to kiss James, brushing his lips lightly against James’s own until James trapped him by placing a hand on the back of his skull. They pulled apart only when they both heard Missy yowl on other side of the door. James’s grip on Q’s wrist tightened fractionally as Q started to stand up. “Come home tonight.”

Q hesitated. “Do you really want me back?”

A light kiss against the back of his hand.  “I never wanted you to leave in the first place.”

_I want to make this work._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_Knock, knock._

“Q? It’s me, James.” Bond pressed an ear against the wooden door, listening carefully for any signs of life inside the flat. The two had only been semi-dating for a few months—night drinks or a dinner here and there, and always in ‘neutral’ territory—and Bond let Q set the pace so far. He had respected Q’s space so far by not hunting down the Quartermaster’s address, but changed his game when he arrived to Q-Branch around lunchtime to find the department in a state of barely controlled panic as staff were either locating their missing boss or carrying on the pretense that nothing was wrong by assisting with a few overseas missions while R fielded M.

Bond, figuring that he had nothing else better to do, offered to check on Q at home in case something had happened and left Q unable to communicate with his staff. R agreed, and reluctantly surrendered Q’s address after swearing Bond to secrecy on the whole matter.

Which brought Bond to Q’s flat. It was a nice building overlooking Hyde Park, and Bond had encountered at least three interested female tenants on his way up to the seventh floor. He’d also received several warnings of ‘be careful’ after he’d mentioned his destination, but Bond knew that Q was only dangerous if he had a laptop at his disposal.

He tapped on the door again, and, after not hearing anything, used a pocketknife to pick the lock. He frowned when he heard the faint _click_ a few seconds later, and made a mental note to talk to Q about his surprisingly horrible security for an MI6 administrator. Bond had been expecting some high-tech tricked device instead of the simple lock and key; he’d even been banking on having to call R for assistance. Instead, he just walked right into the rather expansive living room.

The wood flooring extended from the living room to the kitchen, separated only by a counter and an overhang of cabinets. Bond noted the only hall that must lead to the bedroom before turning and noting the large window that overlooked the park, an armchair and tray table conveniently placed facing outside. A couch and two more armchairs surrounded a small coffee table in the middle of the room on top of a dark green carpet. The flat was clean, lined with bookshelves, and had a strange, padded structure with rope and feathers off to one side.

Frowning, Bond closed the door behind him as he checked his mobile, where he’d typed Q’s address after R had given it to him. He was definitely at the right place, but there was no sign of Q. Keeping a hand on the holstered Walther PPK, he moved slowly through the flat, aware that Q could have stepped out for a moment.

 _Or gotten kidnapped_.

A soft growl caught his attention. Muscles tensing, he glanced around the flat before looking up to find a calico cat sitting on top of one of the bookshelves. Green eyes silently judged him as the animal shifted in its place, head tilting when Bond didn’t immediately move. Then it hissed, fur bristling when Bond took a step back. He remained absolutely still, watching as the cat studied him before standing up and leaning back on its haunches. When it didn’t do anything more, Bond shrugged and kept investigating. It was just an animal. Frowning, he turned towards the hall that led elsewhere, planning to see if Q was in another part of the flat.

_Rrraow!_

Bond lunged forward to avoid the ball of angry fur as the cat leapt down from the bookshelf, narrowly missing his head. Resisting the urge to shoot it in case it belonged to Q, Bond darted for the first open door he saw, slipping through and slamming it shut. He instinctively braced himself against the door when he heard yowling and scratching through the door, the cat hissing and spitting in anger as it desperately clawed at the wood. Bond took a few steps back, listening as the cat’s yowls ranged from desperate to pitiful. Silently grateful that he hadn’t fallen victim to the claws or had witnesses present—Alec and Q would never let him live it down—Bond bowed his head, struggling to catch his breath. _Talk about a close call_ …

 _Click_.

Bond froze at the distinctive sound of a gun hammer. Slowly raising his hands, he gingerly turned around even as he prepared to move in case the gunman fired without further warning.

Q sat in bed, propped up by a few large pillows as he kept a steady aim on Bond. He was in the epicenter of what looked like an explosion of tissues, and had red-rimmed eyes and nose. His hair was a complete mess. Green eyes squinted a second later, and then he said in a raspy voice, “ James?”

“Sorry, would have called if you’d answered your phone for R,” Bond said, keeping his hands up. “Mind lowering that? I already have an angry cat to deal with.”

Q stared, tilted his head as though to better hear the cries outside his door, and then called, “It’s all right Missy, I’m fine!”

To Bond’s amazement, the yowling promptly stopped, and then he heard silence on the other side of the door. “How the bloody hell did you do that?” Bond asked, turning to Q, who shrugged before lowering the gun.

“She probably thought you were here to kill me, there’s a reason why I’m not terribly worried about the level of security in this flat. She always warns me ahead of time,” Q said seconds before he scrunched his face up and promptly sneezed, causing a few tissues to flutter into the air. He blinked, frowned, and then looked up at Bond. “Who on my staff did you scare senseless to get this address?”

“R handed it over on the agreement that I helped find you and didn’t tell M that you weren’t in today,” Bond said, setting his mobile down and draping his jacket over a nearby chair. “Although it looks like you could use some help…” he gently pressed, noting the lack of medication or drinking glasses on the bedside table.

Despite his messy appearance, Q still managed to look worried as though facing a national crisis. “I don’t know, I don’t want you to get sick…” he began nervously, looking anywhere but at Bond.

“Paracetamol, juice, and tea. In that order,” Bond replied, turning to open the bedroom door. He took a few steps back as Missy trotted in, tail in the air as she ignored Bond and jumped onto the bedspread to join Q. “And that thing,” he said, grinning when Q scowled.

“Bond, if you expect to come back, you’re going to have to get along with her,” Q warned as Bond left the room.

“At least I know there’s a next time,” Bond quipped before heading to the kitchen. He’d stick around until either Q kicked him out or Q got well, whichever happened.

Even if he did have to deal with the bloody cat.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

At the first rumble of thunder, Q knew they had to get inside soon.

“James? I think there’s a storm coming, we should go,” he said, tugging gently on the older man’s jacket sleeve, but squeaked when James Bond merely wrapped an arm around his waist and tugged him closer without breaking stride in their walk through Hyde Park. Q had managed to secure the afternoon off for the two of them, citing psychological recovery for James from the last mission. James hadn’t spoken about it to either Q or one of the psychologists, and had slipped off the grid for the second half of his mission. Q had no idea what had happened, he only knew that James wouldn’t let Q out of his sight for more than five minutes.

“Mm, we’re fine. It’s not raining yet,” James replied mildly, his fingers resting over the pulse in Q’s wrist. He let Q go a moment later anyway, still ambling along the walk as though he was just another civilian. Q glanced back at the looming clouds before sighing and catching up to James.

“We can always go in when it starts raining,” Q said after a moment almost to himself, falling silent once again as he stayed near James’s side, mindful of the agent’s knee-jerk reaction to sharp movements near his person. He fell behind, just to watch his agent and long-term partner walk ahead.

James moved with a grace hidden underneath layers of bulky clothing; he’d forgone his usual suit for today in order to better blend in with the London populace. A leather jacket that had seen better days, paint-stained jeans that fell victim to an ill-thought-out painting venture a few months ago, and a Royal Navy T-shirt that exposed skin to the surrounding cold. Moving slightly to the right to get a better look at James’s face, Q could see the deeply-etched frown lines, the faded smile lines around his mouth, a scar from a mission before they met, the gray interspersing in the short blond hair that would need cutting soon.

“Something amusing?”

Q hadn’t realized that not only had he been smiling, but also that James turned around to face him. “Ah, no, just thinking, that’s all,” he said, moving to catch up to the agent. He smiled when James wrapped a hand around his waist again and held him close, and he cautiously rested his head on James’s shoulder, eyes fluttering closed.

_BOOM!_

“Fuck!” he yelped when the downpour promptly started, drenching the two of them in seconds. “Oh, fuck, I told you this would happen!” he half-shouted before attempting to run. James’s arm only tightened and pulled him closer, Q turning to catch himself before he collided with the agent.

“Where’s the fun in _not_ getting wet?” James asked, grinning before he leaned forward and stole a kiss, taking advantage of Q’s surprise to deepen it briefly before retreating, Q’s mobile in hand. “Want it back?” he taunted, holding the device out where Q could see it.

Q gaped at him before charging after him, gritting his teeth when James promptly took off across the grass. “I swear to God, James, if I get a cold or a broken leg out of all this, it’s all on you,” he muttered to himself as he chased after the Double-O.

James wasn’t even running as fast as he could; Q could see him moving at a fast jog that made Q all the more irritated and motivated him to run faster. He was within reaching distance when James abruptly changed direction, laughing as Q nearly skidded and fell over on the wet grass. Once he was confident that he had his balance back, Q glared at the agent, who was walking backwards, but broke a few seconds later and grinned as James spread his hands and bent backwards slightly as though to welcome the rain that cleansed the rivulets of blood that had stained his hands for so long. Q hung back for a few moments, giving the agent the space for coming to terms with something that Q knew he would never understand.

Large hands gripped his shoulders, nearly startling him, and he blinked to find James standing in front of him again and wrapping a hand around his neck. Q grinned as he wrapped his own arms around James’s neck and kissed him, the warmth spreading through his body despite the cold rain from above.

 _I’m here, we’re all right_.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

The clock read ‘04:30’ when James Bond woke to the sound of his phone buzzing.

For a moment, he stared blearily at the device, wondering who the hell would be calling at this hour—it couldn’t be M with a new assignment because Doctor O’Reilly had put his foot down for once, and many of the other agents were abroad—then, aware it was about to switch to voicemail, he grumbled to himself before he dragged himself from the warmth of his duvet and grabbed the phone. “Yes?” he asked tiredly, leaning his head back on the pillow as his eyelids threatened to fall again.

_“Double-oh seven?”_

“Q, don’t you know it’s almost five in the fucking morning?” Bond growled, wondering what the hell the quartermaster had gotten himself into this early in the morning, especially since he had work tomorrow. It had only been three months since Skyfall, but the new quartermaster both grated and soothed Bond’s nerves, depending the day. “What the hell are you doing still awake, Mr. I-have-work-promptly-at-eight?” he growled, recalling the one time Q had shredded _him_ for drunk-calling him at three in the morning.

Silence on the other end. “ _Ah, so it is. My apologies, I’ll let you go back to sleep.”_

“Wait.” Bond frowned, sitting back up as he slowly analyzed Q’s tone and voice in his head. The slight trembles in the first inquiry, the embarrassed retreat in the reply. “What do you need? I’m awake now so don’t you dare think of backing out,” he growled, forcing himself to sit up.

He could almost picture Q fidgeting, unsure of how to reply. That in of itself was unusual, given Q was _always_ prepared with a pithy comeback or immediate answer. A slow exhale, and then, “ _I was wondering if perhaps you could either give me Miss Moneypenny’s number or perhaps someone who lives close to Shenley Ridge?”_

Bond almost turned to stare at the phone. “Q, how the hell did you wind up there?” he asked, resisting the urge to rub his forehead. “Why not call a cab?”

 _“Because it was a fucking cab that got me into trouble in the first place,”_ Q snapped, sounding momentarily like the man Bond saw everyday. A forced exhalation, and then, “ _Just give me the numbers and I’ll be out of your hair._ ”

“Or I could just come and get you,” Bond replied blithely as he forced himself to roll out of bed. “I’m already getting dressed,” he added as he started hunting down a pair of trousers and shirt while one-handed and in the dark.

More silence. “ _All right, I’ll text you the address_ … _please try not to take too long,”_ Q said finally, a rustling sound audible on his end.

“Q, are you in danger right now?” Bond asked, pausing in his tracks, a pair of trousers hanging in one hand.

“ _Not in the immediate moment, I’m just not in a position to defend myself and my phone is about to die.”_ Q’s voice cracked on the last word, Bond moving faster as he tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear to better pull his trousers and socks on. He snatched an old T-shirt and put the phone on speaker before placing it on the duvet. Aside from the fact that Q was a colleague (even if he was a superior), he was also a department head whose administrative status rivaled that of Tanner since he was the primary agent handler. Shuffling on the phone caught Bond’s attention, and Q said softly, “ _I’ll hang up and then send the text.”_

“Save the rest of the battery for absolute emergencies,” Bond warned, turning his attention to his preparation to leave even as he heard the _click_ of a mobile disconnecting the line. Then he heard the soft _ping_ of an incoming text, programmed the address into the navigator, and then left the flat.

He focused on the road in front of him as he left the flat, his mobile propped up on the dashboard. London, while not quiet, had manageable traffic as Bond headed north. He tried to nudge away the flash of unease he kept feeling in his gut; Q definitely had the sense to remain still, but if threatened, Bond hoped that Q had the sense to _move_. As long as Q remained in the general area, then Bond felt fairly confident that he could still locate him. He kept scanning the area for potential threats in the form of tails or individuals lingering on the streets. A vibrant nightlife did exist in the city, but Bond didn’t think that any _sane_ individual would still be out at five in the morning.

_Of all the times to do something stupid, Q, you had to choose now._

He spotted Q’s huddled form on the curb with ease; the quartermaster was sitting next to a streetlight, eyes cast down. He flinched when Bond drove the Aston Martin close, and lifted his feet to shift to the curb and allow Bond to get closer. He was still wearing the same clothes Bond had seen him wearing earlier that day at work, so Bond could only imagine what brought him to this moment. He glanced across the otherwise quiet street, and raised an eyebrow when he spotted a small group of young men milling about on the pavement.

He lowered the passenger-side window, and said, “Get in!” to Q, the car idling as the quartermaster silently reached for the streetlight post and used it to haul himself up. Bond was about to question Q’s behavior when Q awkwardly stood on one foot before shuffling a little closer, studying the curb as though figuring out his next step.

_He’s injured._

Bond left the keys in the ignition as he got out and walked swiftly around the car, Q flinching away when he tried to reach for him. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to,” Q mumbled, careful to keep his eyes down as Bond opened the passenger door.

“Q, what the hell happened?” he demanded, keeping his voice down as he turned and wrapped the quartermaster’s free arm around his shoulder.

“Not here…are they still across the street? They’ve been following me for at least ten minutes until I gave up,” Q muttered back as Bond gently maneuvered him into the passenger seat.

“There are some people across the street, hang on.” Bond shut the door after Q and went back to his seat, hand automatically resting on the hidden Walther when he noticed one of the onlookers pause in interest. Never breaking eye contact, he slid back into the driver’s seat and closed the door, immediately accelerating back into the street. “Who were they?” he asked finally, glancing at a tired Q.

“Hell if I know. There was a car following the cab I took to go home, so I gave the driver a fake address so the tail wouldn’t notice.” Q shook his head and said, “Maybe I just won’t leave headquarters again for another days. I would, to be honest, if I was completely confident that my cat wouldn’t utterly _destroy_ the flat while I was gone.”

Bond made a face. “You have a cat?”

“Yes, and she’ll probably try to wreck the flat anyway out of pure spite at having been left alone for so long,” Q said, leaning his head against the window glass.

“Where did you hurt yourself?” Bond left no room for argument in his tone, glancing at Q for an explanation.

Q hesitated, and then said, “Did something to my ankle in the dark, you could just drop me off at headquarters and I’ll get help on my own. There’s always the night staff.”

Bond shook his head. “My flat is closer and on the way, we can get it elevated and on ice for the night,” he said, turning in the general direction of his flat. “Can your cat make it another night on her own?”

“She can take care of herself. It’s my houseplants that might not make it,” Q said, sighing as he sagged back in the chair. “Do you know how to treat an injured ankle?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“Just checking, I just learned the other day that double-oh eight doesn’t know how to dance. Figured you’d all need to know how to do that in order to complete your missions.” Q curled up as best he could in the seat. “I do apologize about bothering you, I’ll be out of your way in the morning.”

“I may have been grumpy, but I never said you were a bother,” Bond replied, frowning as he glanced at Q. The other man’s eyes were closed with stress lines still present even in rest.

Bond made a mental note to get the kettle going once they returned. He was fairly sure he could find some tea in his flat. He’d also have to deactivate any alarms Q had, to keep him off the ankle for a while. The ice compresses were in the freezer and he had plenty of spare pillows and blankets to make an impromptu bed on the couch.

He turned his attention back to the road, fairly confident that he could sufficiently take care of Q for tonight.

He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, either. Medical’s orders.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

Q woke to the sensation of someone nuzzling the back of his neck.

“James, it’s too _early_ ” he whined, pushing James away half-heartedly before turning over in the thin white sheets, the heat of the Côte d’Azur already seeping into the bedroom of the rented villa. He settled back down again, burrowing back underneath the pillows as the lethargy from jet lag of yesterday’s travel south still clung to his form.

He felt James lean forward and press a kiss between two exposed shoulder blades. “Come on, up we go,” James said, hands wrapping around his torso and easily dragging him back out from his burrow. “We’re in France, in a house with a private beach, and I will go to hell before I let you waste an opportunity like this one,” he said, leaning back on the king-sized bed to better pull a whining Q into a sitting position in his lap. Stealing a quick kiss to the cheek, he allowed Q to lean back on his shoulder before he said, “Now, put something on and meet me outside.”

“I thought you said we had a private beach,” Q said, smirking as he stretched against James’s body. Stifling a yawn, he said, “Five more minutes.”

“That’s odd, that’s what you said five minutes ago,” James said before stealing another kiss and gently depositing Q back on the bed.  Then, as Q blearily reached for his pillow again, James snatched it and began to walk away, ignoring Q’s growl.  “I’ll pull it down later, after I meet you outside,” he said, his voice growing fainter as Q tried to hide underneath the blankets, where the sun _still_ reached through and cast a yellow-white glow, keeping him from going back to sleep.

_Damn it, James._

Q rolled out of bed a moment later, scowling when he realized that James had stolen _both_ pillows, forcing Q with no alternative but to get up and either locate the pillows or make James put them back. Grumbling under his breath, he grudgingly slipped his glasses on while reaching for a pair of shorts, stealing James’s T-shirt on the way to the sliding glass doors that opened out to the balcony that overlooked the beach that lined the Mediterranean Sea. A ways down, he could see the main resort and the crowd already growing, and he briefly wondered if James had gone down that far just to be a continuing pain the arse.

“James, you are _dead_ if I don’t find you in the next fifteen minutes,” he growled to himself, still blinking sleep out of his eyes and wrinkling his nose at the salty air as he stumbled down the wooden stairs to the sand below. _“ Fuck!_ ” he swore the moment he touched bare skin to hot sand; he nearly tripped jumping back onto the stairs.  “Make that ten minutes,” he grumbled as he scanned the beach for any sign of his lover. He did, however, spot the scrabbly patches of grass lining the edge of the beach, and decided to take his chances with those instead of going back for shoes.

 _I changed my mind to five minutes. I just want to go back to bed, not traipse a bloody beach in a shirt that doesn’t fucking fit just because you won’t tell me where you put the bloody pillows._ Sighing, he brushed some sweaty hair back and continued walking towards the main beach.

A shadow darting across the sand was his only warning.

 _“James!”_ Q squealed as the agent appeared out of nowhere and caught him around the middle, throwing him into a fireman’s lift over his shoulder before he started running across the sand. His heart thudded into overtime when he felt rather than saw James reach for his glasses and expertly slide the frames off. “ _James, put me down or so help me God I will-_ ”

“As you wish.”

Q screeched as he promptly fell into cold, shallow seawater. Irritated, he splashed in James’s general direction, and, instead of running out as James evidently thought he would, Q _lunged_ at the agent, catching him around the middle and sending him backwards into the water. Spitting out seawater, Q grasped James’s shoulders right as James pushed back off the seabed and emerged from the water to meet Q in a searing kiss. Q held him tightly for a few more moments before pushing him back in, laughing as he rolled off and tried to stand up to start running back to the shore. Something—James’s hand—grasped his ankle a second later and pulled him back down. Q shook his hair dry before allowing James to gently pull him back, the agent’s features sharpening as Q drew closer. He rested in James’s loose grip, the buoyancy and the shallow depth enabling the two of them to simply rest.

James nuzzled wet strands of hair before murmuring; “I left your glasses on the beach.”

“Good, you would have paid for my replacement pair otherwise,” Q replied, kissing James lightly to soothe the sting. Resting his head on James’s shoulder, he said, “I’m not wearing a swimsuit.”

“Neither are some of the people at the resort, but who’s looking?” James said, Q nearly rolling his eyes when he felt James’s fingers flutter near the hem of his shorts. “But tonight, I’ll show you the benefits of a private beach.”

Q tapped James lightly on the nose and said, “I’m holding you to that.”    


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:**

“I miss you…I wish you were here.”

Almost as soon as the words slipped out, Bond groaned and rested his forehead against the nearby wall in his hotel room, silently cursing himself for the slip in professionalism. Instead of scolding him, however, Q chuckled softly over their link, the video grainy due to poor connection since he wasn’t using MI6 tech for what was turning into a personal call. “ _I miss you too, James, and still wish you could be home right now,”_ he said, keeping his voice low as he leaned forward and tapped something on his desk. “ _Is Belgium truly so bad that you don’t want to stay a little longer after the job’s complete? You haven’t had a break in months.”_

“I’m still insulted that Mallory sent me on a child’s assignment of a simple assassination, we have trained snipers for a reason,” Bond grumbled as he glanced out his hotel window, noting the sinking sun. “I’ll be done in two hours. The problem is sticking around to make sure that the poison actually takes effect and we have a corpse in the morning,” he said, turning back to the video.

“ _I know, I know, and all of this coming on the heels of a three-month mission in South America. Trust me, even Missy wants you back,”_ Q said, grinning as Bond groaned at the mention of the cat. “ _She misses all the table scraps you used to throw her, she’s clawing me now for them at dinner._ ”

“At least you’re eating dinner,” Bond said, frowning as he tilted his head, trying to get a better look at his lover’s physical appearance, but failed when he came to the cardigan. He checked his watch, and said, “I should be going now, my French contact is probably getting impatient to wrap this up and I’m only driving her crazy by not going down.”

He didn’t miss the flicker in Q’s eyes. “ _Very well, try to stay out of trouble. I can arrange for a car to come get you in the morning, once I have received official confirmation of the mission’s completion,”_ he said, looking away to the monitor just out of Bond’s sight. He smiled briefly at Bond and said, “ _Good night James, and I have every faith in your abilities to complete the mission._ ”

Bond nodded, ducking his head as the same three little words caught in his throat— _I want to say them but I can’t_ —and then leaned forward to cut the connection, knowing that he’d be kicking himself later for not saying the words and simultaneously reassuring Q that he wasn’t interested in a night with Marie. She understood, of course; in fact, she made it clear from the start she did not wish to sleep with him since she didn’t want to muddy their professional relationship.

Despite that, she still frowned when he joined her at the top of the stairs, thin eyebrows knitting together in curiosity as they descended the stairs towards the street where they met the taxi. Nor could she ask once they arrived to the ornate restaurant since the unsuspecting mark waited for them with his little entourage. He smiled, engaged the mark in conversation, and ran through the motions without feeling them. The poison transfer went smoothly, handing the little bottle to Marie when the mark asked her, not Bond, to pour him another glass of wine. He could sense her glances throughout the evening, but she did not push him to speak.

Citing exhaustion from completing a month of tailing and studying their mark, she allowed him to rest on the way back to the hotel. It was only one in the morning, and Q would probably be still up in case something went wrong, but at the same time, he may be attempting a quick nap since the mission was technically over.

_Best to let Q sleep._

Marie nodded once to him before disappearing into her own hotel room, leaving Bond restless as he turned and padded back to his room. Slipping inside, he kept the lights off as he pulled the dinner jacket off.

Only to see a pair of unfamiliar socks sitting on the floor in front of him.

He tilted his head, suddenly aware of a second presence in his room. Given that no one had tried to shoot him the moment he walked into the room, he could only assume that the person was interested in information or a one night stand, both of which he wasn’t in the mood for. Sighing, he said, “I don’t know who you are, or what you want, but I will not hesitate to use force to get you out of my room if you do not go.”

“That would be bad,” came a familiar dry voice that made Bond immediately reach for the light to have visual confirmation. “I’m not in the mood for an argument after stealing double-oh five’s car to come out here as fast as I could,” Q said crossly from where he lay underneath the duvet of Bond’s bed, pale skin contrasting nicely with the navy fabric. He waved a hand towards the bureau and said, “First speeding ticket too. I also hope you appreciate that M is going to scream at me for leaving my- _aiik!”_

Bond laughed, the sound drowning out Q’s surprised screech from Bond jumping onto the bed and rolling on top of him in record time. “A speeding ticket and a scolding? Tsk _, tsk_ my dear Quartermaster,” Bond said before Q pulled him for a kiss, which he eagerly reciprocated while running his hands down Q’s torso through the blankets. “I ought to punish you myself for reckless behavior and abandoning your post, but I don’t really care right now,” he whispered in Q’s ear, nipping the lobe and tugging it gently before descending with kisses down Q’s neck.

“ _Oh_ -Christ James, I missed you too,” Q said in a breathy voice, managing to get his glasses off before Bond took them off and set them aside. He let out a guttural moan when Bond ground their hips together even as he pulled the duvet back to run hands greedily down Q’s bare torso as he continued nibbling and sucking his collarbone.

“I’ll have you screaming my name by the end of tonight,” Bond whispered into Q’s ear, delighting in the moans and wiggles in response. “Beautiful, you are so beautiful and amazing right now, I don’t tell you enough, but you always are.”

The three little words got caught again, but Bond didn’t dwell on it so much.

Not when he had Q with him now.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_Beep!_

Frowning, Q pulled his mobile out when he heard the familiar chirp of an incoming text message. He frowned when he realized it was from James— _Can you help me with something?_ —and then texted back ‘ _ok’_ before going back to the code he was attempting to untangle. The two of them had been dating for a while now, three years to be exact, and Q did his best to assist James however he was needed even when James was off-duty. This time, however, James was supposed to be under deep cover, and the fact that he texted Q now meant he could be in serious danger. Q glanced down when he heard the chirp, and then paused when he opened the message:

_I want to propose to Q when we go out next week for our 3-yr, but I don’t know if this plan will work-I don’t want to embarrass him or put him on the spot. I’ll text it to you, and then I want to know what you think._

Q stared at the message, confused. He sat down in the nearest vacant chair, staring at the message until the phone chirped again with another message. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” he said, his voice almost a mumble as he left the main room and headed for the safety and security of his office.

He didn’t open the text right away, setting the phone down on the desk to remove temptation. Proposal? James hadn’t said anything of the sort when he left, and Q had assumed that they would simply continue living together the way they had been for the last three years. Slowly exhaling, he reached for the mobile again, silently imagining married life—he couldn’t believe that it would be much different from what he had now—with slow mornings when James was home, perhaps a closer eye on James when the agent was overseas. He smiled softly at the thought, momentarily indulging himself in the deep-seated longing he felt for James whenever the agent was away. It was definitely unprofessional, but given he was in his office and away from prying eyes, he could make an exception this time.

He glanced at the phone when it buzzed again, and then sighed. He wouldn’t look at the messages so he could truthfully point out that he didn’t read the plan since he also knew better than to lie. James may not be able to catch the mark 100% of the time, but God knew he was an expert at catching lies. And Q could do him a favor and put him out of his imagined anxiety now.

_I won’t look at it. I’ll reply, but I won’t look at his plan._

Leaning forward, Q thumbed the screen on, looked away as he pressed the home button, and then opened a new message to James. He hesitated, wondering what to say, and then decided to get straight to the point. He wrote:

_Three things: 1) I think you meant to send this to Alec b/c there’s a letter difference between our names in your contacts list. 2) I didn’t look at your plan. 3) My answer is yes, but I still expect an actual proposal when you return._

Text sent, he leaned back and reached for his Scrabble mug, intent on refilling it. He was partway to the kitchen when he noticed two of his staff members quietly laughing to each other. “Something wrong?” he asked, pausing in the threshold.

“Double-oh seven just did one of those quiet crumples of defeat after getting a text,” Marcela said, grinning as she gestured to the screen in question. “He was so cocky a few moments ago, which made it even more funny.”

“Well, that’s what he gets for texting me when he meant to text Alec. And it’s really not that big of a deal, I didn’t even see what it was he didn’t want me to look at,” Q said before leaving for the kitchen.

He was a little wary later, however, when he caught wind of hushed Q-Branch staff plans to steal his mobile to read the text in question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for disappearing for a few days, illness knocked me out of commission for that time.


	15. Chapter 15

Bond should have known that Q had a cat.

His ability to talk to animals had so far proved extremely useful on missions; rats were good informants, birds could see threats he (and Q-Branch) could not, and household pets reached closest to holed-up targets where Bond could not. Their requests (in exchange for their services) were simple enough, for the most part, for Bond to accomplish in a timely manner. The problems came primarily with cats and dogs, as their fierce loyalty to owners made negotiations difficult. Cats became difficult when Bond realized that their level of cooperation depended on their quality of living. Dogs were a hit-or-miss: Bond still recalled the three Rottweilers that chased and nearly shredded him as a result of a failed compromise, while another mark’s wife’s lapdog easily told Bond how to get into the house without notice.

Q’s calico, Missy, was infamous for her temper, however, and if her feline scowl at Bond’s presence was anything to go by, Q treated her like a queen.

“Do you want anything to drink while I go check on dinner?” Q asked as Bond hung his jacket up on the hook next to the door.

“Just water, please.” Bond needed his wits about him for the inevitable conversation. Nodding to the resting calico, he asked, “Is this the lovely lady you were telling me about?”

“Yes…she’s a little grumpy with strangers, sorry about that. Just stay out of range of her claws,” Q said, glancing nervously at Missy, who licked her paw. “I’ll be right back,” he added before turning to leave.

Missy didn’t even wait until Q was gone. “ _Dog_ ,” she hissed, fur bristling.

Bond waited until Q was in the kitchen before he said, “If that’s the best you can come up with, you need to go outside more often,” he replied, raising an eyebrow in her direction.

Missy yowled as she ran for the top of the bookshelf. “ _You can understand me!”_ she whispered, soft meows to the human ear.

“I understand you, _he_ doesn’t,” Bond whispered back, nodding in the direction of the kitchen. He had no idea how Missy viewed her owner, and didn’t want to confuse her since he needed to be on the same page with her in order to make life with Q a little easier for the two of them.

 _“Why are you here? Who are you?”_ Missy whispered back.

“My name is James, and I’m good friends with him,” he said, nodding towards the kitchen. “I’d like to be good friends with you too,” he added, keeping his voice light as he slowly approached the bookshelf.

Missy eyed him suspiciously before shifting in her spot. “ _Then tell me why Master is mad at me,”_ she hissed, glancing briefly back at the kitchen.

Bond blinked; he hadn’t seen that one coming. Glancing to make sure that Q was still safely working in the kitchen, he turned back to Missy, whose head rested on her paws. “What makes you think that he’s mad at you? He talks about you a lot at work to the rest of us, even mentioned bringing you in to keep him company in the office,” he said, careful to keep his voice low.

Missy was quiet for a moment. _“He’s never home anymore. I can’t leave the flat, and I get lonely. I hate eating and sleeping alone, and he never plays with me anymore. My first master put me in a cage away from my babies, and after she rescued me, Mistress later sent me to live with Master. Is he getting rid of me next?_ ” she replied finally, burying her face into her paws.  “ _He stopped staying home with me when that Boothroyd human died, now I barely see him anymore.”_

Boothroyd. Q took over his mentor’s position after the blast that destroyed MI6. Missy had been relatively on her own since Operation Skyfall three years ago, and if Bond remembered correctly, it had only been in the last two months that Q’s staff started nudging him home sooner, quietly recruiting Bond in their efforts since Q seemed to respond well to the agent’s presence. “Master’s just working to make sure that other humans, and you, are safe from people who might want to hurt us,” he said finally, deciding to keep it simple. He took a step back, however, when Missy abruptly bristled.

 _“I can’t defend Master if he’s never home! Masterrr!”_ She riveted her attention back on Bond, and he could almost see her eyes narrowing. “ _You. You work with Master. You’re keeping Master from me._ ”

 _Shit_. “Ah, no, no, I-”

_“MASTERRRR!”_

Missy’s loud yowl brought Q back into the living room. “Missy, what’s wrong?” he asked, handing Bond his water before heading over to the bookshelf, where Missy jumped down into his arms and curled protectively around his shoulder, claws sinking into fabric as she mewed into his shoulder, burying her face into his neck. She glanced at Bond for a moment, and then hissed, flexing her claws in warning.

Q blinked and glanced at Bond. “Umm…what did I miss?”

Bond shrugged. “Her protective instincts went into overdrive,” he said before taking a sip of water. He’d need to try another tactic with Missy at a time when Q wasn’t home.

Q didn’t need to know about the rest.

* * *

_“I hate you, hate you, hate you-”_

“So you said you got Missy from your mother?” Bond asked, ignoring the mantra from the living room as he and Q ate dinner; it was his third time over to Q’s flat for dinner, and the cat had not yet warmed up to him. The first night, when Missy discovered that he was the reason Q no longer spent time with her, ended in slight disaster when he found his coat _covered_ in cat hair…when it had been hanging on the coat hook the entire visit. This time, however, it was easier to ignore the hate-filled mutterings that mixed with her laments of her loneliness.

“Yes, Mum had to go to the hospital then, she couldn’t take care of Missy anymore,” Q said, shrugging as he finished the wine in his glass. “I’m not doing any better, honestly, since I have no idea what my work hours will be on any given day.”

“Have you considered bringing Missy into the office?” Bond asked, ignoring the hiss from down the hall.

“Yeah, just need a good excuse to have a cat in the office. Which also doubles as a weapons testing facility and development center,” Q said, getting up. “Want more wine?”

“A little.” Bond offered his glass and Q took it with a soft smile.

“I’ll be right back,” he said before leaving for the kitchen.

Bond merely smiled and watched as Q disappeared before turning to Missy, who was clawing the bars of her pet carrier on the opposite side of the living room from the dining table. “Bet you’re regretting now that you slashed my ankles the last time I was here,” he said, leaning forward to better see the cat.

_“I regret nothing! I will kill you once I escape!”_

“Duly noted.” Bond glanced back to the kitchen where he could hear Q moving around, and then stood up, walking towards Missy’s crate. “Any chance we can work something out between the two of us? I happen to like Master, and would prefer to keep coming here to meet him,” he said softly, kneeling in front of the angry cat.

“ _You’re keeping him from me!”_ Missy spat, and Bond jerked back to avoid fully extended claws in his direction.

“I’m not trying to, I don’t tell him how to do his job,” Bond said, watching as Missy collapsed, moaning in grief.

“ _But you can talk to him! And tell him how lonely I am! And you won’t!”_ Missy snapped, her glittering eyes meeting his. “ _You want to keep him all to yourself!”_

“He doesn’t realize it, but I do know how to share,” Bond said, watching as Missy clawed the sides of her carrier in desperation. “I just didn’t know that you wanted me to tell him that you were lonely.”

“ _You’re a human, I thought you were supposed to be smart.”_

“So if I tell him you’re lonely, will you please stop trying to drive me out?” Bond asked carefully. “If he doesn’t want me around, then you drive me out, but can I stay until then?”

Missy carefully regarded him. “ _Will you let me out of this carrier if I say yes?”_

Bond paused, aware from prior experience that cats were slippery when it came to negotiations. Especially if there was a history of hatred against humans (or Bond, in this case) between the parties involved. Still, he knew he’d have to trust Missy if he wanted to stay with Q. “All right, how does this sound? I’ll tell him you’re lonely, let you out, and you stop driving me out?” he asked, careful to speak clearly.

Missy paused, and then slumped. _“Please. I hate being in this carrier. I keep thinking I’m going to the vet.”_

The vet. Bond knew from experience that the vet was the universal horror for all animals, and he’d had to threaten a visit to the vet from time to time to get the stubborn pets to cooperate while he was on a time crunch. “No vet,” he promised before standing up and turning around.

Only to pause when he saw Q standing there.

For a moment, neither man said anything.

Then Bond gestured to the carrier and said, “I’m going to let Missy out, she’s just been a little lonely, which makes her territorial. I think that might be why she’s temperamental when you have visitors over.”

Q raised an eyebrow. “And since when did you become an expert in cat behavior?” he asked as Bond knelt and undid the carrier clasps. “If she rips your face off, it’s not my fault.”

“Wouldn’t say it was. I met a lovely lady back in ’09 who loved cats and worked as a behavioral specialist,” Bond explained as he stepped back to allow Missy out, the lie moving easily over his tongue. “Just because I no longer utilize information from missions doesn’t necessarily mean I forget it,” he said, holding still as Missy paused, and then tentatively brushed against his trouser leg before bounding for Q. “Take her into the office sometime, surely there’s something she could help out with?”

“James! I am _not_ taking her to a place where she could be injured or killed!” Q snapped as Missy jumped into his arms. “But, I can try to make an effort to be home more often…”

“I’m sure she’d appreciate that,” Bond said as he returned to dinner. _As would I, your staff, and a majority of others at MI6._

He made a mental note to bring her some tuna next time.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Rough handling during a brief struggle.

_How the hell did they get past James?_

Q remained scrunched in the crevice that he’d been hiding in for the last couple of hours, still soaking from the brief, accidental dip into the cavern pool before stumbling out into the blinding _sun_ of southern Spain during his escape. His kidnappers and their leader, Fernando Sanchez— _random kidnapping, they think they have a minor Foreign Office employee_ —had long vanished, having run past him down the stone path towards the bustling harbor of Rota, Spain in search of their prize. Q merely bided his time, waiting until nightfall to slip out and get back in touch with either his brother Mycroft, or his lover, James Bond, with whom he’d be surprised if he weren’t already out looking for Q.

When Q noticed that the sun was barely below the horizon, he decided to take a chance now in hopes of finding a place to stay for the night without twisting his ankle further. It was painfully slow going, a steady limp down the mountain path towards the harbor. It was almost dark when he finally stepped out onto steady ground of the bridge near the British naval base; he could see the familiar flag even in the dark. Gritting his teeth with each step, he moved closer to the base, planning to call Mycroft the _second_ he got his hands on a phone, mobile or otherwise. James most likely would come pick him up and take him home unless he was dodging Medical, in which case he’d drag Q off somewhere as he often did ever since they’d started dating…

“Hang on, I think I saw something move over here.”

“Let’s check it out.”

Q froze at the distinctive _click_ of a military rifle, and then scooted as best he could around a corner, just across the street from the naval base. _If only I’d been a little faster…_

Three men, one wielding a rifle, two carrying torches, appeared around the corner from the stonewall that lined the harbor and ended at the British naval base. Q flattened himself against the rock, hoping to slip past what he assumed was the security detail and sneak back towards the town. He didn’t know if James still communicated with any Navy friends—Alec was with him in the Double-O program—but didn’t want to take a chance anyway. He watched as the three men paused at the edge of the bridge, clearly searching.

“The Spaniard, Sanchez, said that there was one other man in collaboration with them, a skinny, dark-haired Brit. He’s probably long gone by now,” the rifle-carrying man said, finally stepping away.

“No shit, if he’s as young as Sanchez claimed, he’s probably slipped into town by now,” the second speaker said, the familiar voice tugging at Q’s memory; perhaps he might have been able to guess the man’s identity if he hadn’t been irritated that not only did Sanchez name _him_ as a fellow terrorist, but labeled him as young again. _Thirty-three, Christ, it’s not that big of a deal,_ Q thought crossly as he watched the three men search the area for a few more minutes before the leader turned around and began to walk back.

Then he slipped, sending a few pebbles in their direction.

Q was moving even before the gunman opened fire, swearing and cursing Sanchez under his breath as he tried desperately not to howl in pain at each step on his bad ankle. The leader shouted something at the man behind him, and _they_ started running, the gunman hanging back to do another search.

Q knew that even with two good ankles, he really didn’t stand a chance against two highly trained soldiers. Or sailors.

An arm wrapped itself around his waist right as he tried to lunge for the thinning crowds in Rota in a last ditch attempt at escape. _“Fuck!_ ” he swore as a second hand grabbed a hipbone and dragged him backward, his fingers scrabbling on the pavement. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , I’m a _fucking hostage_ you utter _moron_!” he spat, twisting and writhing until a second set of hands pinned him on the ground, forcing his face down onto the ground so that the loose rocks scraped against his cheek.

He noticed that people were stopping to stare, but a sickeningly familiar voice behind him said, “Move along, nothing to see here.” Footsteps crunched past his body as Alec Trevelyan, dressed in Royal Navy fatigues, moved into view, gently shooing the civilians back. “Come on, nothing to see here, minor security breach, that’s all. All is fine again,” he said, ignoring Q’s wide-eyed stare. He seemed _young_ compared to the agent that Q was used to working with. Cold green eyes turned back to him, and Q fell obediently still, even as the man restraining him tied his hands behind his back. “Well, I guess they’re all accounted for now, although I’d still interrogate this one just in case,” Alec remarked in a softer voice as he approached the two of them.

“You want to do the honors, or shall I? I don’t go back on duty until oh-eight hundred,” the man behind Q— _James, it’s got to be James_ —said as he grabbed Q’s collar and hauled him up to his feet and turned him around, hand tightly wrapped around his collar. Q nearly let out a terrified whimper when familiar yet strange cold blue eyes stared back at him.

James, although wearing similar fatigues to Alec, looked vastly different than Q remembered seeing him less than an hour before the kidnapping occurred. There were little to no stress lines or scars on his face, and the hair seemed significantly lighter. Almost similar to the picture in his MI6 file that had been taken the day he accepted his position as Agent 007. The old grief and darkness that Q always saw in his lover’s eyes after missions was completely absent.

It was his James, but at the same time _not_ his James.

Q gaped at him for a few moments, completely baffled as to what the hell was going on.

“I’ll take this one, he might not be a problem,” Alec said, taking Q’s shirt collar from James. “He might crack faster too, than Sanchez.”

Q was honestly too terrified to speak.

It wasn’t until they were almost out of the town when he spotted a newspaper stand, and nearly threw up when he saw that the date read: _March 16 th, 2005._

* * *

 Q felt trapped.

Figuratively, that is; Alec had been _very_ thorough about tying him down to the chair, and Q silently thanked the higher powers that neither Alec nor James had learned the finer points of prisoner interrogation yet; that would not happen for another couple of months. If he remembered both their files correctly, M had approached James first, in the last days of November 2005, and then Alec in January of the following year. Now, however, Q knew that he had very limited options and lack of time to think of a way out that _didn’t_ end in prison. Alec hadn’t left the room and James was nowhere to be seen, but Alec was casually scanning through what Q suspected to be official records of some sort as he leaned back in the chair across the table from Q.

No matter what happened, Q knew, he couldn’t reveal the time slip.

“So your friend, Sanchez, never really gave us your name,” Alec said, setting the files facedown as he looked at Q. “Just said that you were his latest recruit in weapons designs, and that you were one hell of a slippery bastard to find the first place. But you did your work, as you were paid to do.” Leaning forward, he said, “Sowhat _is_ your name?”

“Sanchez is _not_ my friend, I do not associate with terrorists,” Q countered in a cool tone, deciding that being firm and direct would work here, as though he were handling a stubborn agent. _Pretend that this is 006, and not Alec Trevelyan, that you’re speaking to._ Thinking quickly, he remembered one critical factor: Mycroft Holmes. “The insinuation of collaboration, especially since _he kidnapped me_ , is offensive, especially regarding the career path of my older brother and the fact that you are _sorely_ going to regret accusing me of treason once you find out,” he said, haphazardly throwing a plan together: Mycroft, in 2005, would be focused on Sherlock, not little Sherrinford, who would have been left to his own devices. Q remembered that he’d dropped off the radar at some point in 2002, and Mycroft wouldn’t bother with him again until 2011.

As long as he didn’t encounter his past self, he was set.

Alec raised an eyebrow. “Going all high and mighty on me, hm? Well then, what’s your name? Who is your brother?” he asked, smirking in anticipation on calling Q out on his ‘bluff’.

“Sherrinford Holmes,” Q said, omitting the nickname that Sherlock had given him when he was younger. “Mycroft Holmes is my brother, and I encourage you to call him and confirm it,” he said, feeling a twinge of satisfaction at the mild surprise on Alec’s face. “Call him if you don’t believe me.” _Do it and I’ll overlook this when I get back._

“Watch me,” Alec replied, easily standing up and walking to the door. Q tried not to grin; both were bluffing, and Alec was prepared to call Q out on his. Alec stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him and leaving him there. Q leaned back in his chair, slowly exhaling as he waited.

After an indeterminable silence, the door opened again, and this time, James came in, wearing his naval uniform and looking slightly apologetic. Q straightened in his seat, trying to keep the expectant, hopeful look off his face and maintain his indignation as James sat down in the chair across from him. “We managed to get in touch with Mycroft Holmes, and explained the situation, as you suggested,” he began, his tone formal and rigid to any unpracticed ears; Q could hear the strain of embarrassment underneath his words. “I apologize profusely for the manner in which we treated you, and that we were unaware of your predicament this close to the naval base,” he said, watching Q carefully. “Unfortunately, your older brother is unable to come collect you until the end of the week, during which you are welcome to stay as my personal guest, Mr. Holmes.”

“You can start by untying me, Commander Bond,” Q returned crisply, squaring his shoulders.

Another man came into the room, eyes avoiding Q’s as he wordlessly stepped behind and cut the ropes that bound Q to the chair. Q carefully massaged his wrists as the other man left and James watched him go for a moment before turning back to Q. “Suitable disciplinary action has been left to your discretion, on your brother’s orders,” James said, looking calm despite the irritation Q _knew_ he had to be feeling right now.

 _James, you’re going to regret saying that to me._ “Tell you what, how about we get in touch again in say, ten years, and then we’ll discuss discipline. I might be less angry about this whole affair by then, I tend to be the one in the family who holds serious grudges, and I don’t usually think straight when I’m upset,” Q said pleasantly, remembering that it had been early 2015 last he knew, before this weird fiasco happened. And a week gave him plenty of time to figure out how to get the hell out of there before Mycroft arrived. Was a time paradox really possible or was that only Doctor Who?

Q didn’t know if he wanted to find out or not.

“Ten years, as you wish,” James replied diplomatically, and Q nodded, careful to maintain his calm expression. He hesitated, and then said, “May I assist you to our medical facilities? I can then escort you to the room where you will be staying for the duration of your time here.”

 _“Please_ ,” Q said, silently relieved that the pain would end soon, keeping a straight face had been more difficult than he thought.

He let out a small sight of relief as James stood up to help him, he knew he only bought a little time but that was hopefully all he’d need to get back.

It wasn’t until they were almost halfway to the medical facilities that Q realized he would have to interact with James as though they were strangers, something he hadn’t done in the last three years he’d known James in the future.

 _Shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last time I opened this ficlet, in Word, had been September 2014, and all dates had been randomly selected. I had then forgotten about the dates until today, talk about a coincidence ;)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

James Bond knew very well from personal experience that dark office windows meant that Q did not wish to be disturbed.

Judging from the tight expressions of the Q-Branch staff, the stony silence in M’s office and a few sulking Treasury staff, Bond could only imagine the turn that the well-worn argument of Q-Branch budgets— _slashed this time because decrease in federal funding as it was redirected elsewhere in the government this quarter_ —took when Q had been informed (via email, as to avoid his wrath) that he had to stretch one quarter’s funding over half a year until further notice.

Bond had found out through an email sent to all agents a few days after his return home; weapon productions would continue uninterrupted at the expense of R&D starting at the beginning of the month. Bond quietly predicted a civil war within the branch before the six months were up, and then went down to the one man he knew would have to face the entirety of the problem while both halves of the branch seethed at each other in silence.

“Q? Q, let me in,” he said, rapping his knuckles against the office door despite R’s frantic gestures in his periphery. “Q, let me come in, you’re going to have to come out eventually and I’m sure you’d rather it was me and not someone M hired to pull you out,” he said, deliberately ignoring R’s face-palm in the background.

The light next to the door handle suddenly switched from red to green.

He slipped into the office, nodding once to R before closing the door behind him and reaching for the light switch that he knew was next to the door.

“Please don’t.”

He paused, noting Q’s hunched form in the middle of three, softly glowing computer screens. “Why?” he asked after a moment, calmly walking towards Q, whose fists were wrapped in his dark hair. “Too bright?”

“Distracting. Last thing I need right now is a fucking distraction,” Q said, brow furrowed as he carefully typed something into what looked like a database, the numbers across the screen automatically adjusting as he finished. Bond noisily moved to stand behind him and gently placed his hands on Q’s shoulders, feeling the tightly-corded muscles underneath his cardigan. “Bond…”

“Shh, just a rub, nothing more,” Bond said, gently pressing his fingers against Q’s shoulders, rotating them in gentle circles as he watched Q adjust a few more numbers before the rest of them changed again. “Is this something that can wait until later?” he asked, eyeing the numerous mugs and papers scattered around Q’s desk.

“Not really, I need to figure out how to redivert what funds we already receive back to R&D before there’s a department mutiny that could compromise the agents,” Q said, leaning back unconsciously as Bond found a particularly thick knot. “Problem is I’m still trying to figure out how much money needs to be diverted in the first place to keep R&D going, and then figure out where to make the cuts that wouldn’t anger any of the staff further.”

“How long have you been at it?”

“Since the fight the other day, so hours? I don’t know, what day is it?” he asked, finally pausing and looking up at Bond, the computer light reflecting off his glasses. Even in the dark, Bond recognized the stress lines in the other’s face along with the tense jaw and twitching fingers. Even when they were supposed to be looking at each other, Q kept glancing back at the screens even as his shoulders trembled under Bond’s hands. “I think I should get back to work,” he finally said, reluctantly tugging his shoulders free.

Bond instead knelt so that he was eye-level with Q, the stress lines more pronounced up close than far away. “Your staff has been avoiding you since then,” he said, brushing some hair out of Q’s face. After glancing over his shoulder to make sure that the door was locked, he gently tugged Q forward, the younger man finally giving in and flopping against him, face buried into his shoulder. “Take a break and come back to this with fresh eyes, then you might be able to approach it with a clearer head,” he said, shifting to sit on the ground with a lap and armful of quartermaster.

Despite Q’s halfhearted protests, the lack of movement told Bond that Q wasn’t going to leave.

It was a while before he felt the tension slowly begin to leak out of Q’s shoulders.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

Q couldn’t even remember what the fight was about.

He lay on his side, facing the bathroom door with his eyes closed as he heard James getting ready for bed. Honestly, he considered himself extremely fortunate that James hadn’t stormed out of the flat after the argument a little before bed, he’d been mentally preparing himself for spending the night alone and waiting for the inevitable phone call from James to pick him up from whichever pub he’d ended up that night. But no, James had stalked off into another room, and refused to talk to him for the rest of the night. Now, Q lay in bed while the burn of anger faded for the thickening tendrils of hurt and guilt to twist his heart as he listened to James preparing for bed.

A creak in the floorboards, and he could hear James’s steps from the bathroom into the bedroom, pausing at the foot of the bed— _probably checking to see if I’m asleep—_ before moving to the other side of the bed. Q felt the bed sink, but only tucked the duvet underneath his chin and kept a firm grip on the edge. The blankets tugged, but then he heard a faint sigh as James discovered that the blankets were mostly immobile for the night. Instead of tugging harder, James instead lay down and moved underneath the covers, close enough for Q to be aware of his presence. He listened for a few moments, the sound of James’s breathing in the dark, evening out after a few moments.

The gulf between them felt daunting.

_I can’t do this._

Q sighed, wishing he could check James at least once before going to sleep. Careful, as to not disturb James, he released the duvet to better turn onto his other side and better see James.

_Thunk!_

“ _Ow,_ ” Q hissed in the dark right as James swore, hands reflexively reaching up to press against respective foreheads. He blinked when he realized that James had turned over as well, body still slightly twisted as he pressed a palm where their foreheads had connected. Blue eyes blinked at him for a split second.

A few seconds later, James chuckled right as Q bit his lip to stifle his laugh, grinning broadly as he scooted closer to James. The agent closed the distance a moment later, wrapping an arm around Q’s waist and pulling him closer for a kiss, starting chaste and deepening as James pulled Q flush against his body. “I’m sorry. About earlier,” Q mumbled against James’s lips, falling silent a moment later when James pressed another light kiss. “I really shouldn’t be telling you how to do your job.”

“Mm, you had several good points though, especially since I did in fact put other agents in unnecessary danger on the last run,” James said quietly, gentle fingers brushing back Q’s hair and tucking it behind his ear. “I had R send me the entire debriefing package, including your and his reports on Q-Branch’s end.”

Q sighed, deciding to forgo the usual ‘half of those were confidential’ line. “I don’t mind you deviating from mission parameters if the situation called for it, but I worry even more when you do,” he said quietly. “I try to help you, James. I know you can take care of yourself, but I was worried for the field agents you were retrieving.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. No one was injured regardless. A few close calls, perhaps, but I’ll be better about avoiding those in the future,” James murmured before kissing the dark curls. “Now, though, you need sleep.”

Q made a face even as he snuggled closer.

A few seconds, he was asleep, feeling considerably better, relieved and at peace with himself and James than he had five minutes ago.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“I’ll be right back, just going to toss this.”

“Hurry, the train will be here in a few minutes,” Q said, glancing over his shoulder as James Bond moved off towards a small shop to toss out the napkins from their quick pre-dinner snack (that Bond may or may not have slightly nudged Q into eating after completely forgetting lunch earlier that day) as well as the receipt; he was not as nitpicky about holding onto those as Q usually was. He nodded once to the cashier before leaning down to the rubbish bin.

_Ruff, ruff, ruff…_

He paused at the whimpers— _too low to be a rat, not enough inflection as Missy; it’s a baby animal_ —and then turned to the source; a worn, rotting cardboard box sat near the stand, just out of sight to avoid notice from any onlookers or passengers hurrying by. Careful, as to not spook the animal inside or attract the notice of the stand owner, he moved closer to find a small, yellow-gold bundle of fur in the corner. He slipped a glove on and carefully reached in and picked it up by the scruff, the whimpers softening as he lifted the small puppy from the box. Its eyes were still closed, and its mouth made soft suckling motions to the air.

_It may not survive._

“You can take it if you want.”

“Pardon?” Bond asked, glancing up at the stand owner, who peered down at him.

“I said, you can take it if you want, the person who brought them here disappeared after handing out the others. Didn’t know what was making that whimpering sound, it was starting to bug me,” the man replied, watching as the puppy twitched in Bond’s hand while the agent opened his jacket wide enough to tuck it into his jacket. “Might have been a runt.”

“I’ll find the person who left it,” Bond replied, standing up as he heard the train arrive. He nodded once to the man before joining Q on the platform just as Q turned to face him, brow furrowed. “I’m right here,” he said reassuringly as the train pulled up.

“Good, I don’t know what I would have told M about losing his agent on the Tube a second time,” Q said, smirking before stepping onto the train, Bond close behind.

The puppy rested on his chest, a slowly warming weight that Bond was used to feeling albeit with weapons instead of a living animal. He did grimace when it dug claws into his chest when he stood up, and discreetly supported its bottom to keep it from falling. It wasn’t until that they arrived to the flat that he remembered; Missy, Q’s temperamental calico that _always_ went with Q wherever the man moved, was extremely territorial feline that only let Bond move in after two years of knowing Q. “Missy, stop, that’s James, you like James, remember?” Q scolded when Missy abruptly puffed up and hissed as the two men entered. “What’s gotten into you _now_?”

 _The puppy_. “She likes me, but probably not what I found in the Tube,” Bond admitted, nudging his jacket back from where he’d been unconsciously holding the puppy. Q stared at the two of them as the puppy began to whimper, nuzzling against Bond as though seeking out warmth. “It was on its own, Q, I couldn’t leave it there,” he pointed out as he walked passed Q, briefly glaring at a sulking Missy.

“How old is it?” Q asked, following Bond into the kitchen. Bond thought he heard the feline equivalent of an indignant squawk, but ignored it as he began looking for a medicine dropper; he’d had to care for kittens once, to entrance his mark, but he figured the philosophy couldn’t be much different for puppies.

“Not sure. I can take it to the vet tomorrow, if you don’t mind looking on Tube footage for the bastard who left it there,” he said, rummaging around the kitchen drawers. “Maybe nurse it back to health before putting it up for adoption.” He spoke without thinking, already considering what having a dog in the flat would be like. He had two dogs back at Skyfall, under Kincade’s watch, and he wondered if Ilsa, the female of the two, would be up for minding a puppy. But he and Q could only have so many pets in the flat at once; wherever Ilsa went, Winston was sure to follow. Not to mention the amount of slashed noses that might result from having three dogs and one cat; Missy could only handle so much stress in her life, and the Rottweiler down the hall was clearly enough for her. “How will Missy take to having a dog in here?” he asked, glancing at Q.

He shrugged. “I’ve never tried, but since it’s a puppy, she might be less inclined to be mean…might be a good idea to keep an eye on them just in case. Either she’ll hate it or want to take care of it herself,” he said, glancing back into the living room. He glanced back at Bond, and then frowned. “What?”

“Nothing, thought you’d tell me that the puppy can’t stay because of the cat,” he said, adjusting his grip on the wriggling body as he turned back to the drawer.

Q sniffed. “For starters, the puppy makes you happy, but we really should talk about it before we make any major decisions,” he said finally. “Especially since you’re usually not home. But give me a chance to get into the CCTV, and work some magic.”

Bond grinned, face scrunching a moment later as the puppy clawed its way up and began licking his face.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Mentions of past mass murder.

_He’s late_.

Q wrung his hands as he paced the floorboards in the barn behind the cottage he shared with his family, praying that for once, his nosy mother would not think to come outside looking for him. She’d kill him, if she knew what he was about to do, especially with the memory of the Sweep five years ago still painfully fresh in the minds of the survivors. The dry summer air still clung to the floorboards and musty hay, the few horses and livestock still turned out in the paddocks for the evening, where it was cooler compared to the barn interior. His cotton shirt and trousers scratched against his skin, and he swallowed, aware that he’d have to go back in soon.

 _He doesn’t owe me anything as it is. I’m just the scrawny rancher he pulled out of a pub brawl three months ago, been nothing but a diversion for him. He was not obligated to come out here twice a week since then and teach me how to defend myself_.

 _Fuck_.

Shoulders sagging slightly, aware that their training sessions would have finished that night anyway with his confession, Q turned and headed for the barn doors. He decided it was for the best that a Citadel foot soldier didn’t know _what_ he was; James would have most likely spurned him before turning in him and his family to the enigmatic Royal Citadel Commander, the king’s direct underling in their province. Execution would have shortly followed, and Q would have died knowing it was his fault that his family died. Trying to swallow back the stinging in his heart—he shouldn’t have gotten attached, shouldn’t have fallen for James so hard the way he did—he leaned forward and undid the latch to barn doors, quickly stepping outside.

And promptly walked into someone.

“Leaving already?” James teased, scarred hands holding Q steady as hazel eyes met a clear blue. Q managed to summon a smile to cover up his anxiety, but knew he failed to reassure James when he saw concern cloud James’s eyes. “Did someone bother you?” he asked quietly, leaning closer than Q was used to.

Q shook his head, mouth suddenly dry—although from nerves or James’s sudden proximity, he didn’t know. Instead, he swallowed, and then said in a shaky voice, “There’s something I want to tell you. Inside the barn, I mean, I know we usually practice outside since there’s space, but I can’t tell you there because I don’t want anyone else to hear.”

For a moment, James didn’t say anything, just studied Q for a moment before nodding and following Q into the barn. He wore the same, ill-fitting navy-and-gold Royal Citadel Taskforce tunic that Q always saw him wear, the moonlight illuminating the numerous scars that decorated his upper chest and along the side of his face. Q ducked his head before James could catch him staring, turning instead to make sure that his escape route was open in case James reacted badly to his news.

He flinched, when he felt the firm hands rest on his shoulders before sliding down to his upper arms. “Q, what is it?” James asked quietly, his body gently pressed against Q’s back. It wasn’t the first time they’d been this close, especially in close-quarters combat training, but Q sensed this was different, more intimate. “Is it that I was late tonight?” he asked, fingers gently massaging Q’s shoulders.

Q swallowed, the sadness weighing in his chest as his heart twisted; he’d definitely grown attached to James. “No, um, no…” he gently pulled away from James and faced him, heart thudding in his chest. “I’m a Changer,” he blurted out, eyes darting over James’s face, trying to catch his reaction. “I, um, have a good grasp on everything but I don’t, um, use them often or anything-”

“Which division?” James interrupted softly, his face expressionless.

Q faltered, his courage slowly deflating. “Primary mental, secondary elemental,” he said after a moment, watching as James tilted his head in interest. “I can’t-I’m not a mind reader, but-”

“And that’s what you wanted to tell me?” James asked, arching an eyebrow.

Q nodded, feeling defenseless as James slowly unclasped the belt that held the sheathed sword that he rarely used—he always brought it with him as a preventive measure in case they were ambushed—and set it aside before approaching Q. “And here I thought you were going to tell me that you had a relative in the Citadel, and were going to report me in for sneaking out at night,” he murmured softly as he stopped in front of Q. Q swallowed and reflexively closed his eyes as James reached up and gently brushed back a few dark curls. “How did you escape the Sweep?” he asked carefully as he continued brushing loose hair back from Q’s face.

“Went underground with, um, others. My element is earth,” Q admitted, swallowing as he tried to take a discreet step back to disguise the unexpected warmth pooling in his gut at the gentle ministrations. “Please don’t tell the Citadel Commander, he’ll-”

“Never know, he’s leaving in the morning to the Capitol. That’s why I was late, he was selecting a vanguard to accompany him,” James said, his words causing Q to look up at him in surprise. “I’ll be leaving for about a month, hopefully you can keep yourself out of trouble until then?” he asked, blue eyes twinkling with rare mischief.

Q felt a smile twitch on his face. “Oh, but sir, I don’t ever mean to get in any mischief,” he said, repeating the same words he’d said to James after the rescue all those months ago, albeit with more lightheartedness than originally before.

James chuckled darkly as he leaned forward to brush his lips near Q’s temple. “You know what? I don’t think I quite believe you,” he murmured, hot breath fanning across Q’s ear and temple. “I can’t protect you when I’m not here, and while you’ve been very diligent in your studies, I’m now even more worried for your safety since I won’t be here if you’re caught as a Changer.”

“Wait, so that doesn’t bother you?” Q said, pulling back slightly to stare up at James.

A sigh, and James’s grip slackened slightly as he pulled away. “Q, I wasn’t there for the Sweep, but I was there in the aftermath. No one deserves to die like that,” he said quietly, tilting Q’s chin up so that they made eye contact. “When I joined His Majesty’s army, I thought I would be defending the kingdom. Not witnessing the slaughter of his people, _innocent_ people I was supposed to protect. So I try to do what I can, but I’m not stupid.” He leaned down, and brushed a tentative kiss against Q’s lips, catching him off guard. “I won’t turn you in, I promise,” he whispered before reaching around and resting a hand on the back of Q’s neck and drew him for a deeper kiss.

Q let out a muffled squeak of surprise, but James swallowed the sound before releasing Q and tucking his head underneath his chin.

For a moment, Q remained there, standing still, listening to James’s reassuring heartbeat within the safe confines of James’s arms wrapped around his body. He was relieved that not only did James not leave him, but apparently returned Q’s non-spoken feelings.

_I’m going to be okay, we’re going to be okay._


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:**

“You’re kidding, right?”

Q shrugged. “You dragged me across the United States, consider this paybacks.  Especially since the target’s going on the ride and M said that we can’t lose sight of the man _or else_ ,” he pointed out, moving closer to where Bond stood so that he was out of view of the milling crowds at the American amusement park, Cedar Point.  Q still sounded miffed at having had to fly from Chicago, disrupting a hard-earned vacation, to Detroit Metro— _a completely unnecessary trip when we could have bloody drove—_and they’d driven to Sandusky, Ohio, where a wanted terrorist was apparently spending _his_ vacation after nearly killing 004 last week.

Bond glanced back at the roller coaster that the target—one Christopher Raines—was waiting in line with presumably his girlfriend, standing behind two unaware university students.  “Q, what about the _height_?” he asked warily, examining the structure in question.  He’d done his research on the park rides when Q took his turn driving; at one hundred and seventy feet, the GateKeeper was Cedar Point’s star attraction. It was also the _fastest_ in the park, going at sixty-seven miles per hour.

He was sure Q would hate it.

“What about it? Nowhere near the height of an airplane, and nowhere remotely near the speed,” Q replied serenely as he examined his phone. He’d switched his glasses out for contacts once they’d realized that they would be working near roller coasters. “Also, the exit is on the other side of the ride, and it would take longer than two and a half minutes to go find it before Raines came out.”

“You’re really still angry about the flight, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m actually quite irritated with the FBI, since technically this is their home turf and granted, it was one of ours that got injured, but _really_ you would think they would be on top of the fact that a _terrorist_ is in the United States and almost killed an ally on top of that-”

“Easy Q, keep the grumbling down.  Double-oh four wasn’t supposed to be here anyway, we all thought she was in Mexico until she sent her distress signal from Mackinac Island,” Bond said, reaching out and grasping Q’s shoulder as the younger man tried to walk away. “Come on, now or never.”

Q nodded uneasily, looking faintly ill as he followed Bond to the line, slipping into place four spots behind Raines.  The university girls had definitely noticed them; one kept trying to sneak quick, casual glances over her shoulder until her friend pointedly nudged her shoulder. Both were wearing University of Michigan T-shirts, putting Bond on alert for other university students in the vicinity; he’d already witnessed one fight break out between students of rival schools.

When they (finally) arrived to the boarding area, Bond jokingly pushed Q towards the measuring stick as though to make sure he fit within the height requirements, earning a discreet shove to the shoulder as Q scrambled to rejoin him, face slightly red as the girls giggled.  He and Bond slid into the pair of seats two rows behind Raines and his girlfriend; while the girlfriend looked excited, Raines had a look of barely concealed boredom as he rested an arm around the girlfriend’s shoulders.

Right as the employees came around to check safety straps and were running through the procedures, Q discreetly pulled his earwig out and stuffed it into his pocket, glancing at Bond as though to silently dare him to say something. “I’d rather not subject my staff to my painful demise if I were to die on this ride,” he muttered as he zipped the pocket closed.

“You’ll be fine, it’ll be over in two and a half minutes.  You yourself said it wasn’t as bad as flying,” Bond pointed out as the ride lurched forward, their legs dangling as the train began the slow climb of the initial drop.

Q had turned a delicate shade of green by the time they reached the top of the initial drop. “I’m re-evaluating my earlier assessment. Along with a lot of major life choices,” he said faintly as the coaster tipped. “James, maybe now’s a good time to say that I’ve never been one of these _beffffooooorrrr-_ ”

The rest of his words were lost to the wind as the car _dove_.

Honestly, in the grand scheme of things, Bond didn’t mind tailing Raines like this. It was a better alternative to getting shot at, and he could still entertain himself (without putting others or worse: Q at risk) and not get into serious trouble.  Hopefully, by the end of this little detour, he could take Q back to their vacation before flying back to London.

Bond was still laughing—the man behind him had had been swearing creatively the entire time—when the car finally came to an abrupt halt. It occurred to him then that his entire left hand had gone numb, and Q was deathly quiet.  Worried, he glanced at his partner and whispered, “Are you all right?”

Q blinked, but didn’t say anything until the train finally stopped and he’d clawed his way out over Bond and onto the platform.  He kept blinking even as James guided him towards the exit, still keeping an eye on Raines.  “Q, Alex, talk to me,” Bond murmured worriedly as Q finally shook himself.

“That…was _fucking awesome!_ ” Grinning, he took Bond’s collar, surprising the agent, and kissed him soundly right there, not minding the fact that they’d blown their cover.  “Let’s do that again, only this time I’ll need something instead of contacts, I think I lost the right one…”

Grinning despite himself, Bond knelt and pinned Q against the fence to keep him still, trying to examine his eye.  “Yeah, you lost the contact all right.  Let’s take care of that first, and in the meanwhile you can hope that Raines will go on another rollercoaster.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

It started with a blue knit hat.

“Status update for double-oh seven?” Q asked offhandedly as he studied another staff member’s coding project. There were three ongoing missions, none of which needed babysitting, but given that James Bond was on the verge of escaping an angry terrorist at a ski resort in Switzerland while on the slopes, several curious staff members wanted to see the chase pan out. Q meanwhile had taken advantage of the relative quiet to perform the necessary annual firewall diagnostic and updates for the MI6 mainframe.

“Still at the resort at the top of the mountain, sir. The girl he’s with is trying to coax him out on the slope with her, but he’s on the verge of turning her down because he and Ramirez’s henchman have been giving each other the evil eye for the last ten minutes,” Marcus said from his workstation.

Q glanced up at the monitors in time to see James grasp the hands of the woman (Q didn’t bother remembering their names, there were too many) and say something to her before stepping back and heading towards the start of the trail, skis against his shoulder. The henchman moved as well, trying (and failing) to remain inconspicuous. James paused in the entryway long enough to set the skis within reach, presumably to pull out a hat and goggles in preparation for the trip. Q shook his head and went back to the coding even as he heard the woman’s pleas to join James. Instead, he tuned into the chatter of his staff, which was usually more amusing than the Bond Girl of the mission.

“And here she comes back…”

“Do you think he’ll use a ski to hit the guy with?”

“That’s a nice hat though, I kinda want it. The dark blue emphasizes his eyes.”

“Maybe if you ask him or Q, they’ll tell you where he got it.”

“Boss?”

Q sighed before looking up at the staff member in question: Hannah Winters. “Yes?” he asked patiently, used to his staff asking him about James’s clothing choices.

“Where did double-oh seven get that knit hat? I want one,” she said, gesturing to the screen.

Q frowned. “James doesn’t have a knit hat, I-” he began, looking up at the screen. And then fell silent when he recognized the hat in question.

Fingers twitching, he leaned forward and took a few deep breaths, wondering how the hell he hadn’t taken theft from James in account when he’d discovered that his favorite warm hat disappeared a few weeks ago. “Bloody hell, if that’s how he wants to play it…” Q muttered, scowling at the screen. “That’s _my_ hat, I don’t know how or when he got a hold of it,” he growled as he resisted the urge to snatch the comms and shred James; he knew the chances of the hat returning in one piece were slim.

Gritting his teeth, he vaguely waved for the staff to get back to work as he returned to focusing on the project in front of him, aware that he had to wait for his partner to return home before questioning him (even then, there was no telling how long it would take. James could have taken the hat out of sentimentality (unlikely) or to just irritate Q (very likely) but until he returned, everything else was up for debate).

It was still on his mind later when he finally stumbled into his flat (or their flat? James’s belongings were slowly migrating into Q’s flat and Q suspected it wouldn’t be long that James’s flat cease to exist), and his head hurt. Missy meowed at his feet, yellow eyes silently accusing him of neglecting her as she wound in between his legs, nearly causing him to stumble. “Christ, you and James both need to learn how to get your own food. And don’t give me the ‘I can’t because of no opposable thumbs’ excuse, I still remember how you knocked over the cat food container and made a mess all over the floor,” he grumbled as he reached for the container in the cupboard. He tried to ignore the relatively cold temperature in his flat—he always turned the heat off when he was at work and James was abroad—as he prepared Missy’s dinner. He was already wearing a cardigan, and there were only so many cardigans he could wear on top of each other before it became impractical. He’d have to pull one of his thicker jackets from the closet, that was going to annoy him all night with its constant crinkling-

_Unless James left one of his thick sweaters?_

Q paused, considering the possibility. Aside from the fact that James stole his hat (enough justification on its own to raid James’s closet here), he _was_ genuinely cold and this _was_ his flat…

Stepping around an irritated Missy, he set the food down on the counter and headed towards the bedroom where he knew James made good use of the space that Q gave him when he started leaving clothes at the flat.

After all, turnabout is fair play.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Mild violence

He always got on the train at Vauxhall.

That first day, James Bond didn’t notice him very much, his head still buzzing from dealing with tourists all day and minding his old friend, Jon Bowers. Bond was quietly nursing a headache from Jon’s latest panic episode, and growled when one of the new arrivals jostled his leg. He looked up to snap at the man, only to stop when he saw that a dark scruffy-haired man wearing glasses also had a pair of earbuds. One hand curled protectively around his laptop bag while the other reached out to the nearest pole for support as the train started again. His scruffy appearance, in combination with the well-dressed group of people who got on with him, caught Bond’s attention almost immediately.

It was a job with irregular hours; the man sometimes did not appear on the Tube every day. The man wore awful cardigans and checkered trousers more often than suits, but his impressive array of expensive electronics that Bond caught glimpses of suggested a high-paying job. The man always wore glasses and earbuds, got on at Vauxhall, got off at Baker Street, and occasionally had cat hair on his jacket or parka. He always checked the caller ID on his mobile before answering, and usually ignored the call instead of picking it up.

The temptation to abuse rank and look up this man was present, but Bond decided it was most likely for the best that they never spoke; his caretaking duties of Jon were almost over, and he’d head back to Spain within a month to rejoin Captain Villiers aboard the _Chimaera._

_Besides, the last time you knew someone intimately, they disappeared on you._

Bond figured he may never forgive Alec for that. Bond was in recovery for two months from a naval accident, and Alec had the gall to disappear on him without another word. Not even a fucking postcard.

He leaned back in his seat, mouth twitching as he saw the man get onto the train again, a little scruffier and tired than usual. As ever, the man did not look in his direction as he stood in his usual spot in the middle of the train, as he did for the last month Bond had been observing him. Jon had gone home earlier that day, but Bond figured that the unnecessary Tube trip was worth seeing the man again one more time before he left. As usual, the train started, and the man once again remained oblivious to his surroundings. Bond shook his head in silent dismay, wondering how the hell the man had made it this far without paying attention. Leaning back in his seat, he checked his mobile, aware that Villiers would be calling soon to confirm an arrival date within the next two days.

He almost missed the train stopping again, only looked up at the soft apology of another man knocking his knee by accident. With a grunt, Bond moved his leg and went back to the text message, but then looked up when he saw the newcomer move close to the man and remain hovering near his shoulder. Careful to keep his phone out as though texting, Bond carefully studied the newcomer, aware that while he didn’t owe or know the man, he still deserved safety.

The glint of light against an edge of silver attached to a handle caused Bond to pause.

 _Throwing knife, small enough to conceal in a crowded area yet large enough to cause damage_. He’d have to get uncomfortably close to the newcomer for a better look at the model, but Bond quietly went back to his text, typing gibberish at this point in order to bide time. If both men got off at Baker Street, then he’d follow. If both men separated, he’d follow the newcomer. Just to make sure that the newcomer wasn’t up to any mischief.

As it was, they both got off at Baker Street.

Bond moved quickly and relatively quietly, slipping through the doors right as they closed. The man was still oblivious to the newcomer, who casually followed him at a distance. Bond lengthened the distance between him and the newcomer, mentally reviewing what hand-to-hand he still remembered while hoping it wouldn’t come down to that.

_He really should be paying more attention to his surroundings._

Shaking his head to himself, Bond slid through the crowds, ducking to the side once when the newcomer abruptly stopped and glanced back. Then, as the man moved forward, Bond moved back into the flow of the evening crowd, stepping out onto the main street right in front of a bus stop. The man, he noticed, hesitated before crossing the street, shoulders scrunched forward with his head bowed as he paused at the fence in the median before climbing over that.

_He does know he’s being followed._

The newcomer attempted another tactic, using the crosswalk instead and kept his head turned towards the man. Bond kept pace, not missing the way that the newcomer abruptly darted forward right as the man reached the corner of Marylebone and Chiltern.

In one move, the newcomer caught up to the man, wrapped an arm around his neck and clamped a hand over his mouth before nudging the man forward out of sight onto Chiltern.

 _Shit_.

At this point, Bond gave up whatever pretense he had left, jogging across the road and rounding the corner, coming to an abrupt stop when he saw that the newcomer had turned the man around and held him at knifepoint, both men watching Bond as he came to a stop at the street entrance. Wide hazel eyes stared disbelievingly at Bond as he flinched, the attacker’s knifepoint drawing too close to the neck for Bond’s comfort.

“Stay there, and he won’t get it,” the attacker warned, his baseball cap pulled low as though to shield his face.

Bond held up both hands to show that he was harmless. “We don’t really have to get to that point, just let him go,” he said, focusing more on the attacker instead of the hostage. “He didn’t do anything.”

“That you know of. This little bugger is going to fetch several hundred thousand pounds, where he’s going,” the attacker snarled, taking a few steps back while keeping the knife to the man’s throat and the other hand on his shoulder.

“Then a witness will be very inconvenient,” Bond remarked, pulling his mobile out. “I’m sure his superiors will be very interested in having a description of his attacker.”

“You don’t know who he works for, nice try,” the attacker snarled, but Bond tried not to smirk at the slight anxiety in the other man’s voice.

“I’m an officer in the Royal Navy, of course I know for whom he works,” Bond said, casually tapping out a few digits on the mobile before raising it to his ear, shrugging with one shoulder when he made eye contact with the newcomer.

In one swift move, the attacker threw his hostage to the ground before charging Bond, knife glinting in the dying sunlight. Bond easily lowered the phone and took a step back, crouching into a half-remembered fight stance and dodging the first swing before sweeping the other man’s legs out from underneath. The attacker easily regained balance, using the momentum to push himself back up. He moved fast, forcing Bond backwards as Bond sought to regain control of the situation and move it out of a civilian area.

Whoever trained him, trained him well. The attacker remained in Bond’s personal space, forcing Bond onto the defensive as Bond tried to keep the glittering knife away from his face. He was also aware of the Tube entrance behind him, and that the attacker was slowly forcing him towards the stairs.

_Time to end this._

At his first opportunity, he reached out and grasped the attacker’s elbow and _pulled_ , causing him to stumble forward. Bond moved to the side, using his own leg to trip the other man up and send him headfirst down the stairs, the man landing with an audible _thump_ on the ground below, causing people to scatter. Bond glanced down, tensing when the man lay still for a few moments before moving his arms as though to push himself up.

Bond turned, and nearly ran headfirst into the former hostage. For a moment, neither man said anything, but then Bond recovered first, using a hand to herd the man back the way he came. “You should go home as fast as possible, before he can come back,” he said, glancing at the man, who mutely nodded. “And pay attention to your surroundings and vary your routine a little, it should prevent another incident,” he added as he started heading down Chiltern, the man close behind him and clutching his computer bag close.

“Sorry-about not paying attention thing…what’s your name? How did you figure out my employer?” the man asked, glancing involuntarily back at the Tube entrance.

“James Bond. I wasn’t lying about working in the Royal Navy, but I was about knowing where you work. I have no idea where you work,” Bond said, glancing down at the other man. “What is your name?”

The man grinned as he kept up with Bond. “Quinn, I work in IT for Universal Exports,” he explained as they paused at the intersection with Porter Street. “Thank you, though, for the save. I didn’t even see him coming,” he said, glancing back nervously at the Tube.

“Which is why you should be more aware of your surroundings, especially since you or one of your superiors at Universal Exports sufficiently angered someone enough to try and kidnap you.” Bond glanced back, and said, “Do you have someone who could come get you and take you home?”

“Uh, my brother’s partner, he works with the Met and he knows me. He can even sort all of this out,” Quinn said, glancing at Bond. “Will you be all right?”

“Should be. Be careful,” Bond said, preparing to turn down the street.

“Wait.”

Bond paused and glanced back at Quinn, who wrung his hands nervously. “Would, you, um, be up for some coffee? Or tea?” he blurted out, face flushing in an oddly endearing way. “Just, you know, as friends.”

“Didn’t realize it could be misconstrued as something other than that,” Bond teased, grinning despite himself at Quinn palming his own forehead. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to take a rain check on that, I’m heading back to Spain in two days,” he said, noting the Quinn’s slumped shoulders. “But, if you’d like, I can give you my mobile number.”

Quinn nodded, face still pink, but at least he was smiling. “Of course, I’d greatly appreciate that.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Strongly _assumed_ major character death, reincarnation.
> 
> Based on this Tumblr post here: 
> 
> http://mistflyer1102.tumblr.com/post/81341803005/skyfallat221b-bondwho-regenerating-when

_James is gone_.

Q barely registered the sensation of his Scrabble mug slipping from cold, numb fingers as he remembered that his lover and partner of two years, James Bond, was dead. It had been an innocuous moment; he’d finished preparing his afternoon tea when he started making James’s coffee, just like he did every afternoon since they’d started dating. He’d returned to his office with the coffee and tea, and set the coffee down on his desk in its usual corner. Then he sat down and meant to pull up some paperwork that needed filing, something to do while he waited for James to join him for their afternoon breaks, when the transcript from James’s last mission to a hidden Soviet facility in St. Petersburg appeared on his screen.

The last entry on James’s end was a reported gunshot.

Q felt sick to his stomach again.

Forty days. Thirty days had passed before James went from ‘missing’ to ‘dead’.  Another ten had passed before even Moneypenny, who usually remained hopeful with Q, gave up hope that James had somehow miraculously survived. Q still remembered how he’d braved the flight to St. Petersburg, under escort from 006, to examine the smoldering wreckage of the facility himself for any traces of a body.  The responsible munitions expert had been thorough, however, and Q found nothing but ash and blackened beams.  He’d never have a body to bury, he’d never have a chance to see his lover again, and he’d never know what it was that James wanted to tell him before he left.

_Damn it, James._

Shutting the computer down again, Q stood up, not caring of the mess at his feet. Stepping gingerly around the ceramic shards, he walked around the desk in hopes of finding something to clean the mess with.

 _“Fuck_ ,” he swore when his elbow clipped the coffee mug, sending it to the ground and spraying coffee all over his carpet.  Oddly enough, the mug survived this time. Grumbling under his breath, he knelt to pick up the empty mug, barely resisting the urge to destroy it anyway. He wrinkled his nose at the scent of coffee filling his enclosed office.  “Damn it James, if you didn’t like coffee, I wouldn’t have brought this into my office now. That’s why this is _your_ fault,” he muttered, swallowing back the hysteria that was threatening to bubble from his throat.  He was talking to a dead man.  He was blaming a _dead man_ for his mistake.

_If I’d been a bit faster, would you have lived?_

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Q didn’t even fight the self-doubts this time as he walked towards the door, intending to head to R&D and lock himself up in there for a little while and give his hands something more constructive to do. He stepped gingerly over the spill, making a mental note to strong-arm the latest Q-Branch troublemaker into cleaning it up as he opened his office door and stepped out.

_Smack!_

“Christ, sorry Tanner! I didn’t see you there!” he said, reaching out quickly to stabilize the Chief of Staff even as Tanner caught his own balance. “Sorry, sorry, I wasn’t thinking…”

“Don’t worry about it, I know,” Tanner said, offering a small, awkward pat on the shoulder; other than Eve, he was the only person who had helped Q recuperate after James died.  “Are you all right?” he asked, frowning as he took in the dark circles underneath Q’s eyes and the dark tea stains down Q’s front.

Q nodded, looking away from Tanner in that moment. “I, um, just spilled coffee and tea in my office, I was about to go get something to clean it up with,” he said, fidgeting slightly in discomfort when he saw Tanner’s frown grow at the mention of coffee.  Everyone knew that it wasn’t Q who drank coffee.

“Can it, um, wait? M sent me down with himfor _debriefing_ , she was very specific about that,” Tanner said, nodding in the direction of the Q-Branch staff. Q arched an eyebrow in confusion— _I didn’t know we had an agent returning today_ —before turning to see the indicated agent in question.

The newcomer was tall, around James’s height, and prowled around the increasingly annoyed staff in a heartbreakingly familiar Armani suit.  His heart leapt in hope that it was James, keeping to his usual habits of returning from the dead and terrorizing the staff before sweet-talking his way into Q’s forgiveness.  Then Q saw the blond hair instead of black, the sharper facial structure, and scar-free hands.

_This isn’t James.  It’s his replacement._

Q wondered if this was M’s idea of a punishment for fraternization.

“Right, um, debriefing. I can do that,” Q said, looking away from the newcomer to Tanner and hoping his voice didn’t wobble as much as it sounded. He gestured vaguely for the agent to go inside his office before he glanced across his staff. “R! Marcela!”

The agent stepped aside to let the two technicians scramble forward. “R, please keep an eye on everyone else. Marcela, I need cleaning supplies for coffee and tea, and I’ll turn the other way the next time you prank Accounting _if you don’t ask_ ,” Q said, speaking too quickly to let Marcela interrupt with the inevitable question about the coffee.

“Yes, sir,” she mumbled, casting a wary eye at the agent before leaving. R merely nodded before glancing at the agent and then returning to his agent.  Q glanced at Tanner, who gestured for him to move.

“All right, please come in,” Q said to the agent, trying not to notice that the man was around James’s height.  “Given that we’ve never met before, I can only assume you were promoted recently,” he said, keeping his best professional persona as he shut the door behind him and gestured for the agent to sit.  “First rule in Q-Branch is to _leave my staff alone_ ,” he said, smacking the agent’s hand away from the empty coffee mug. “Second rule is to leave my things alone.  Third is to obey your mission directives, the second of which is to bring your equipment back.” Taking a moment to reign in his anger and guilt, he sat down and turned the computer back on, minimizing the St. Petersburg transcripts before pulling up a personnel file.  “I’ll need you to specify which mis-”

“Q.”

Q stopped, remaining focused on the computer even as he noted the voice sounded different. “Unless it is critical, I’ll need you to-” he began, resolutely staring at the screen.

“Q, it’s me. Bond, James Bond.”

Q turned to face the agent, the _stranger_ , and steeled himself to keep from losing what little control he had left over his temper and grief.  He hesitated, and then said quietly, “I don’t know who put you up to this, to say _that_ to me, but even if it was M or Tanner, you’re going to tell me so I can deal with them _after_ I deal with you.”

“No, no, Q, listen.”  He started to reach for Q’s hand, but Q pulled away quickly.  “One minute, and if you still don’t believe me, then I will leave you alone.”

Q stiffened, displeased at the speed he was losing control of the conversation. He said nothing even as the stranger moved closer, taking James’s chair next to Q’s.  “Please don’t do this,” he whispered in a small voice even as the stranger took his hand in his own before leaning close and whispering two words in his ear, his breath warm and familiar against Q’s skin.

_No, no, no, no-_

“Did you get that out of him? Before he died?” Q croaked, turning to face the other man, nearly bumping noses with him.

“No Q, you told me the night you spilled wine on yourself on accident during dinner. That was also the first time you let me kiss you, remember?” the man said, rubbing the back of Q’s hand with a callused thumb in a familiar gesture.

Q looked, really _looked_ , at the man in the eyes for the first time.  They were the same shade of blue that he remembered so well, along with a carefully guarded expression along with the familiar tinge of hope and wariness. “… _James?_ ” he whispered disbelievingly.

James pulled him close into a hug, Q stifling his sobs as best he could. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come back sooner, there were a few things I had to take care of,” he said, resting his chin on the top of Q’s head.

“But, but, but, you look completely different,” Q said, pulling back to get a better look at James’s face.  “How did you-”

“Regeneration, it’s hard to explain.  It was either that or die, and the mission wasn’t over,” James said, looking down at the faint _crunch_ underneath his feet. “What happened?”

“I dropped my mug by accident,” Q said, forcing James to look up again. “Regeneration? What the hell do you mean by ‘regeneration’?”

“I changed my face, but not my identity.  So we can’t exactly do the switching prank on Tanner or M anymore, but I’m sure we can think of some other way to affect M’s blood pressure,” he said before pulling Q forward for a kiss, wiping away tears with a thumb.  Resting his forehead against Q’s, he said quietly. “I was going to tell you that night, but then the brief came in for the St. Petersburg mission and I had to go. M is the only other person who knows, not even Tanner knows.”

Q had to resist the urge to shove James off his chair.  “You _bastard_ , do you know how much I _mourned_ for you?” he demanded, reminding himself that as incredulous as it sounded, he didn’t really want to test this regeneration ability.  “And how the hell are you going to explain yourself hanging around to my staff?”

“I was thinking that we could keep our relationship quieter, outside of the building. Going to tell Alec as well, he’s going to be easier to convince.  I’m the only other person who knows his fighting style well enough to keep the match in stalemate, and he knows it.  And he _will_ hit me,” James replied, brushing his fingers though Q’s hair in a familiar, intimate gesture.

“I’ll tell him to hit extra hard,” Q said, smiling before leaning in for another kiss. “Just… just don’t you _ever_ fucking do that to me again.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, love.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Aggressive intruder

Originally, Bond planned to go straight to bed after kicking Alec out of the flat and having a drink or two (or three).

It had been a long day, even with the Quartermaster absent for once and unable to annoy him about equipment—something about a prior obligation he couldn’t get out of—and Bond had grown bored of terrorizing the staff of Q-Branch, Treasury, and Medical before heading to the firing range and running into Alec. The two Double-Os had left not long after in an attempt to locate and scare Q, but failed miserably when they lost the Quartermaster’s trail in Piccadilly Circus: R had seen him go in with someone, but after searching through numerous buildings, neither agent spotted him.

Bond was still working on the second step of getting semi-drunk that evening when he heard his doorknob jiggling in the handle. Very quietly, very slowly, he set his drinking glass down and reached for the bottle itself, hand wrapping around the neck despite the fact that he _knew_ that the flat was listed under a false name, securely locked both physically and electronically, and _was in a complex with at least twenty other MI6 flats_. His gun, he’d stupidly put out of reach on the cabinet near the door even though he knew that the intruder would not be able to use it himself. Bond merely tensed, ready to throw the bottle the moment the door opened.

The door barely cracked open, only far enough to allow a black shadow to slip through and close it with a _snap_. Bond only relaxed slightly when he recognized Q, dripping wet and panting slightly, as he leaned against the door and pressed an ear against the wood, unaware of Bond. It was odd, seeing Q outside of work and wearing what could pass as formal wear. For a moment, neither man said anything, but Bond could hear faint, thundering footsteps outside.

“Spurned lover?” he asked a moment later, sitting down in the nearby armchair and releasing the bottle.

Q flinched as though electrocuted. He stared at Bond for a moment, and then hesitated before he drew himself up, squaring his shoulders as though the two were at work instead of in Bond’s flat. “Apologies, double-oh seven, I will be gone in just a moment,” he said, stiffening when they both heard _knock-knock_ on the flat door.

_“Winfield? I know you’re in there, get the fuck out so we can talk!”_

Bond raised an eyebrow as Q flinched again. “You should probably move so I can answer the door,” he said, easily standing up.

“Bond, I didn’t know this was your flat, I swear I’ll be gone if you don’t throw me out to him,” Q whispered, flattening against the door as it shook slightly with the man’s efforts to get in.

“Who is he?”

Q hesitated. “Drunk party guest who got a little touchy-feely at the reception, I had to go to an aunt’s wedding today,” he whispered, freezing as Bond set the glass aside and stood up.

“Are you in danger?”

Q hesitated. “Not yet,” he said quietly after a moment.

Bond nodded and silently gestured for Q to move aside, even going as far as to nudge the quartermaster behind a cabinet that was behind the door once it was open. Then he picked up the gun, holstered it, and then opened the door to stare down at the man on his front step.

The newcomer was clearly drunk and as wet as Q, needing the wall to support himself as he tugged his tie off. He stopped and blinked blearily at Bond, squinting until he said, “You’re not Winfield.”

“No, I’m the man who owns this flat,” Bond replied, casually leaning against the frame so the man could see the gun. “Don’t know who the hell Winfield is, either. Which begs the question of why you’re here, disturbing _me_.”

The man hesitated, and Bond could see him weighing the risks with the benefits of outright challenging Bond over a potential problem. Then he nodded, backing away. “Yeah…if you see him, tell him I want to chat, and I lost my mobile so I can’t call until I find it,” he said finally, shrugging with one shoulder as he fixed his jacket. He waved vaguely in Bond’s direction before starting to wander off. “He’s hard to miss, he’s kind of scruffy with loose-fitting clothes, he’ll be in a suit and wet like me.”

“Which begs the question of how you got wet in the first place,” Bond said, directing the question at both Q and the man.

“Trafalgar Square’s got a fountain, I fell in when he pushed me, and took him with me,” the man said, shrugging with a shoulder as he began ambling down the hall. “’Night.”

Bond merely offered a thin smile before closing the door.

He crossed the room and picked up a blanket from the sofa as Q slowly moved from his hiding place. “Must have been one hell of a party,” he remarked as he tossed it to Q.

“Well, if you knew the bride, my oldest aunt, you’d know it was,” Q said, wrapping the blanket around himself as he tried not to shiver. “I’m sorry, I’ll be gone soon.”

“Actually, it might be better to stay the night, he might continue to hang around to see if you come out,” Bond said, nodding to the sofa. “Just tell me how the hell you got into the flat first and how _he_ got into the building.”

Q frowned. “Who do you think designed the security systems here in the first place?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “As for him…he must have dodged the guard downstairs. His name is Tim, he’s related to the groom somehow, hell if I remember.”

“Right. What time do you need to be at work?”

“Eight, but I can go myself.”

Bond shook his head. “I’ll take you there in the morning, even after Tim’s sobered up and forgotten about you. We can also talk on the way, I have a few questions,” he said, pulling spare blankets from the hall closet. He tossed them to Q, who managed to catch them. “There are plates and glasses if you’re hungry or thirsty, everything else is in the refrigerator. Shower’s down the hall, the door will be open. I’ll be going to bed now, but is there anyone you should call first?”

“Mum, but that can wait until morning. She trusts me enough to not get into trouble,” Q said, setting the blankets down on the bed.

Bond was almost to his own bedroom when he heard, “Bond?” He paused, and glanced back but didn’t say anything as he watched Q stand there for a moment.

Then, “Thank you, for this.”

Bond nodded once before grumbling under his breath about everyone giving _him_ trouble as the unexpected visitor, but he let this one slide.

And may have stayed awake until he was sure that Q was safe and asleep before going to sleep himself.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Oh, _James_ …”

“Oh, _James_ , why don’t you stick a fucking fork down my throat?” Q growled underneath his breath. “It’ll be quicker that way,” he muttered as he stared at the computer screen that displayed the firewall repairs, the high-pitched tone of the young tech grating on his nerves. He couldn’t see either of them—he had his back to he main room as he examined the data in front of him—but he could certainly _hear_ the tech, a newcomer, attempting to get James Bond’s attention for what felt like the nth time that week alone. He heard James say something too low for him to hear, and rolled his eyes as the tech giggled. In a fit of pique— _James is mine, you’re seven months too late_ —he pantomimed gagging for a few seconds before going back to the screen.

James may have not seen it, but R certainly did. The second-in-command promptly choked on his coffee, attracting attention from not only the surrounding techs, but Q heard James’s shoes squeak against the floor as he also turned. “Everything all right?” James asked in a light tone from behind Q.

R had the decency not to lie. He shook his head before scuttling closer to Q’s workstation, cheeks slightly red as Q hunched his shoulders forward in an attempt to escape interrogation. James never paid him any more attention than he did with any other tech in Q-Branch, but still took the opportunity to needle Q about equipment, his age, even his choice in clothing if the cardigan happened to be particularly offensive that day.

_And to think it’s your touch that I miss the most during the day._

“So, James, if it’s not a lack of interest… _oh_ , are you seeing someone _special_?” the tech suddenly asked, a light giggle concealing the vein of interest in her tone.

She wasn’t the only one; Q did not miss the way in which several of his staff fell quiet at the question. He reached for his Scrabble mug, determined to carry on as he usually did; James’s business did not affect him…he had to pretend it didn’t. To preserve the illusion of them not seeing each other, he had to pretend.

“Nope, I’m not seeing anyone special,” James replied easily in his usual bantering tone. “Simply making the rounds, my dear.”

_What?_

Q involuntarily flinched at the cavalier response, jerking again when R yelped in pain beside him. He turned to find coffee and tea dripping down R’s suit, the man himself scrambling to get the clothes off before he was horribly burned. Painfully aware of the entire branch—and agent—staring at the two of them, Q moved to pull R’s coat off. “Fuck, sorry R, I zoned out for a second—I’m exhausted,” he said, bundling the coat as R yanked his shirt off and reached for an offered towel. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’ll live,” R said, smiling briefly before he frowned. “Sir, are you all right?” he asked after a moment as Q stumbled slightly, having miscalculated the distance between his hand and the table.

Q paused for a moment, catching his breath and beating back the spreading numbness in his chest. Finally, he shook his head, forcing himself to not look at James. He said, “I’ll be fine, I-”

“Maybe you should head home early tonight, get a little rest,” R said, smiling as activity slowly resumed within the branch.

Q didn’t know if James was still watching them. He didn’t know how he’d feel about it either way. “Yeah, um, that-that might be a good idea, before I accidentally blow us all up by accident or something horrid like that,” he said, running a hand through his hair as he turned back to his work.

Only then did he risk a quick glance at James, who was back to chatting with the new tech.

_‘Making the rounds’…he doesn’t mean it._

_Right?_

Q ended up dismissing himself early; James had dropped back into Q-Branch to harass his staff around six, and Q could not stand for another round of ‘Oh _James_ ’. With a curt order to R to keep the branch running until the night staff arrived, Q gathered his things and calmly walked through the desks, shoulders squared as he trained his gaze on the door and not James. He barely dodged James’s grasp; the agent moved to intercept him and place a hand on his shoulder, but he did not follow Q when he missed. Just as well, as Q found himself taking the long route via the Tube home, wondering if James had agreed with him to keep their relationship discreet because Q was nothing but another conquest, one James could shed without the workplace drama.

It was a testament to the state he was slowly working himself into that he walked into the shared flat and started quietly getting ready for bed before he realized that James was home as well, sitting on the couch with a calm— _no, no, I’m not stupid James, you’re annoyed with me again—_ expression on his face.

“I’m tired,” he stated flatly, little vibrations of pain emanating in his chest with each word.

“I know, but you’re also lying. R just doesn’t know you well enough to know that you’re always steady at work, except for when something unsettles you,” James said with infuriating calm. “And that usually happens when you’re monitoring high-risk missions. Which you weren’t.”

Q let that one slide; it was hard to argue with facts. “All right, but I really am tired,” he said, moving towards the kitchen to get the dishwasher running before he headed to bed. He was still putting dishes away when he suddenly felt James’s hands grip his shoulders, fingers massaging lightly. “James…” he began, unsure of what he wanted.

“Alex, we said we’d have open communication when we started this,” James said, and Q wrinkled his nose at the use of his given name. _Cheater_. “What’s bothering you? Did someone say or do something at work?”

Q remained quiet for a moment. “Perhaps, but it’s not important,” he said, going back to the dishes. _Like me, apparently._ He twisted his shoulders gently out of James’s grip, and said, “I need to finish and go to bed soon, I have to be up early.”

He froze when the hands returned, but remained in a still grip on his shoulders. _Trapped_. “What happened Q?” James asked quietly, voice pitched low in his ear. Q felt a weight settle on his shoulder as James rested his chin there. “Is it something I said in the branch?” he asked.

“Like I said, it’s _not_ important!” Q snapped, attempting to jerk free of James’s grip, only to find that James had more or less crowded him against the counter and trapped him. “James…” he growled, body tensing as he relaxed his arms; he knew very well where James had his sensitive spots.

“Ah, so that’s it. And you usually don’t take offense at what I say unless it’s a threat to one of your staff, and I didn’t threaten anyone today, so it has to be something else…” James said, voice trailing off as he recalled the few moments in Q-Branch. Q felt his body sag in defeat when James let out a soft _oh_ of acknowledgement. “Ah, do you think that I’m cheating?” he asked, grip tightening fractionally.

Q gritted his teeth, but refused to let his temper flare: not yet, anyway. “I never said anything like that, nor would it bother me because sticking to one person isn’t something you’ve usually done in your down time anyway!” he snapped, jerking in James’s grip again. “Let me go.”

James didn’t move. “So it’s that? What I told your subordinate?” he asked, voice dangerously soft now. He snorted softly, warm breath fanning across Q’s neck and collar. “Well, I take them where I get them,” he said, gently crowding Q a little further.

Q jerked to stare at him, stung. “ _What?_ What did I do to warrant that?” he said, looking at James, whose eyes were closed as he rested his head on Q’s shoulder. When he didn’t immediately respond, Q said, “About that ‘open communication’ bullshit-”

“I get the feeling, sometimes, that you’re rather ashamed to be with me, my dear Quartermaster, as you are the _first_ person to ask me for complete secrecy on our relationship,” James interrupted, abruptly pulling away and nearly causing Q to stumble. “Since I am aware of my reputation, I can only imagine why. Is it that you don’t want to be tormented? You don’t want to be added to the list of people I’ve left behind? You want to be untarnished when we break up? Contrary to popular opinion, I do know how to maintain a long-term relationship.”

Q didn’t miss the use of future tense in talking about a breakup. _Fuck_. “No, _James_ , it’s just that I _never_ broadcast my personal life to people outside my family, it’s not their business!” he snapped, hating that James blocked the only way out of the kitchen. “Not to mention I can’t fucking stand it when _she_ drapes herself all over you when you come down to Q-Branch. No, I asked for secrecy because I know that people gossip, and once that reaches outside of MI6, _anyone_ will hear it and I’m not stupid, I know I’m your weak link because I can’t keep up with any of the double-ohs. I don’t _ever_ want to be the reason you were compromised, you could lose your fucking _job_ over it-”

“What about _your_ job?” James interrupted, brow furrowing.

“I’ll get moved or otherwise separated from you. You know M won’t allow it, he’ll question if I would put you over the mission if it ever came down to it, and then eliminate the risk to sleep better at night. _I don’t want any of that!_ ” Q nearly shouted, chest heaving as he stared at James. “I want to be with you, without the scrutiny of our work ethics, and I don’t want to be the reason that you lost something you love doing!”

The two of them stared at each other, and then Q felt tired. Extremely tired. “You know what? Do what you will, I don’t care,” he said, shoulders sagging as he turned back to put the last few dishes away. Snapping the washer closed, he turned to leave the kitchen only to walk straight into James’s arms. “James, just…let me go, please.”

“Did something happen the last time you didn’t watch yourself?”

Q paused, and then shook his head. “I just don’t broadcast it, it’s my personal life, and it belongs at home and not at work. Simple as that,” he said, his voice muffled against James’s shirt.

“Mm, I believe that, I’m still learning about you even now that we live together,” James said, resting his chin on top of Q’s head. He was quiet for a moment, and then said, “I think tomorrow, I’ll start training you, just to build up endurance if anything. That way, you can defend yourself while I’m gone and can’t protect you. ‘Keep up with us’, if you will.”

Q snorted, a smile curling his mouth even as James tilted his chin up for a kiss.

He was half-asleep by the time James brought him to bed a little while later, so he thought he imagined James whisper, “You’re not my weak link, you’re my strength.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

It took four Double-Os exactly twenty hours to first catch, and then restrain Q.

“You are all fired. Do you understand me? _Fired_. And James, you’re on the fucking _couch_ indefinitely if you don’t let me go within the next two fucking minutes,” Q growled as 008 and 006 held him still in front of Bond, who was already going over in his head the next steps for the mission. MI6 had gone great lengths to claim this one from MI5, given that Six had been chasing the target for two months before the target, one Ramón de la Vega, showed up in London just in time for the February London Fashion Week. De la Vega planned to pose as a photographer in order to search for his next victim.

Bond didn’t know how long it took for his partner to figure out that he fit Ramón’s profile, but was still secretly impressed that Q made it as far as Liverpool before the agents caught up with him despite R having frozen Q’s passports…all six of them.

“James?” 004 said, entering the flat in which the four men waited, Q still struggling against 008 and 006. She glanced Q over before saying, “I’ll need to get his measurements since he’s a little on the short side for the infiltration you had in mind.”

“Infiltration? _What infiltration?_ ” Q screeched, struggling in vain as Bond studied the offered tablet. “James? James, please, please, _please_ don’t make me do what it is you’re about to do-”

“Who did you find?” Bond asked, hoping to get business out of the way before soothing Q— _mission comes first_ —as he turned to 004

“Christopher Raeburn, English designer who works with both men and women. Won the Emerging Talent for Menswear at the British Fashion Awards back in 2011. He’s one of the few designers doing a catwalk for menswear this week, and he’s showcasing his Autumn/Winter 2014 collection. Since we need Q on the catwalk in order to be spotted in the first place, I figured we couldn’t afford to be choosy about the whole thing,” 004 said, picking lint off her sleeve.

“And your plan for slipping him in?”

“One of the models is ill, so Q can take over for him. Or at least the model _will_ be ill once he’s done eating dinner tonight,” 004 said, checking her watch. “Assuming double-oh nine can get to the restaurant on time.” She shrugged. “As long as everything’s ready by seventeen hundred on February fourteenth, when Raeburn’s catwalk starts,” she said, pulling out a fabric tape measure.

Q visibly paled.

“Tell you what. Give me a few minutes with Q so he can at least _see_ what we’re going to put him in, and then I’ll let you come back and measure him,” Bond said, glancing briefly at 006 and nodding discreetly to the door.

004 nodded, and then left. 006 and 008 carefully released Q before darting for the door, closing it behind them before Q could escape as well.

Scowling, Q turned to glare at Bond, who was going through the photographs of the outfits. “James, I don’t know what the _fuck_ is going on, but please tell me what you’re about to do,” he said, voice wobbling even as Bond stepped forward and pulled him close, dropping the agent persona for a moment.

“Target’s going to London Fashion Week, we got rights to pursue him since we had him first, and you’re going to draw him out into the open so that double-oh four and one can finally catch him,” Bond patiently explained, gently tugging him to the nearby sofa. “In order to catch his attention, you need to be in a public place. Ergo, the catwalk.”

“The what now?”

Bond stared at him for a split second before shaking his head and seating the two of them. “Catwalk, where the models show off the designs for the season in front of hundreds of people and cameras. In this case, that would be Autumn and Winter 2014 collection,” he said, pulling up images on the tablet, easily locating Raeburn’s designs. “I’ll be backstage while you do this, double-oh four will be in the audience immediately in front of the runway, and double-oh one will be in a nearby rooftop. You’ll be _safe_ -”

“I’ll look utterly ridiculous-”

“No more than you already do with the cardigans. You’ll also-”

“At least cardigans are _comfortable_ -”

“Q, all you have to do is _walk_ —here, watch the videos from previous shows. Remember that we’re close to finishing a long mission, after which we can go to the Côte d’Azur like we were always talking about,” Bond said, brushing a light kiss across Q’s cheek.

“Sherlock will _never_ let this go…” Q began uneasily.

“But Mycroft might keep him in check long enough for us to escape out of gratitude for helping eliminate a threat to national security,” Bond said, pulling Q close as Q studied the images.

Q sighed, shoulders slumping. “Fine, I’ll do it. I won’t like it, but I’ll do it.”

Bond nuzzled his hair. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, don’t worry. I know what I’m doing,” he whispered softly before meeting Q for a kiss.

* * *

“Is everything all set?”

“As well as they can be, double-oh nine had a smidge of a mishap with taking care of the model that Q’s replacing,” 004 said, sidling up to Bond less than an hour before the catwalk show was about to start. London Fashion Week was already on its second day in, and already Bond was ready to snatch Q and sneak out of the country, consequences be damned. 004 glanced around to make sure they didn’t have eavesdroppers before she whispered, “Apparently the French ambassador, Francis Bonnefoy, invited the model to accompany him to the dinner he was supposed to have with Mycroft Holmes and Arthur Kirkland, and double-oh nine said she couldn’t be obviously picky about the plates and risk blowing the plan to Holmes.”

“So in other words, we’ve accidentally poisoned three government officials along with the one target?” Bond said, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at 004.

“Well, I figured Q would thank us, since it’s one less brother to witness his so-called humiliation,” 004 said, shrugging with one shoulder. “Honestly, I think he looks adorable, but that’s just me.”

“I’ll have to wait until he comes back here to get changed into another outfit. Double-oh one is in place?” Bond asked, checking around backstage where a few models were preparing for the catwalk, making sure that Raeburn didn’t come around for a last minute check. Q was nowhere in sight, no doubt under 008’s watchful eye to make sure he didn’t try to bolt at the last minute.

“Yes, which means I should go too. Mark hasn’t been spotted yet, though, so keep an eye out,” she said, pushing back some stray wisps of red hair. “Good luck.”

“As with you,” Bond said, moving back to where the other outfits were waiting for the returning models. He was no stranger to fashion shows, especially when marks or their partners appreciated them, but it felt different, knowing that his own lover was deliberately in danger and out of Bond’s sight. Hopefully Q would maintain his composure, he and Bond had practiced the night before with the walk and displaying his clothes (or lack of, as the evening progressed).

He soon heard the roar of the crowd as the music began, and closed his eyes, the earpiece quiet as MI6 monitored Q on the catwalk and the agents remained at their positions in case of an ambush. 008 was on the other side of the backstage, mainly to keep anyone from entering on that side, while Bond held position opposite from him. The moment the mark was spotted by any of the four Double-Os, Q would be removed from the premises as 001 and 004 stalked the mark.

Bond was dozing when he heard familiar footsteps, slightly muffled, approaching. He looked up and grinned unapologetically when Q appeared, visibly miffed in the black boots, dark gray trousers, and silver sweatshirt that had the silhouette of a bear on the front. “Cute,” he remarked as Q stalked past him.

“Piss off.”

Bond sighed, well aware that there could be numerous factors contributing to Q’s mood. He closed the changing room door behind him as Q began to strip, placing his hands on Q’s bare shoulders and massaging them gently as Q carefully placed each item back onto its hangar. “I know it’s just the start, but this will be the only catwalk we’ll ask you to do,” he said quietly, pulling Q close when Q stilled long enough for him to pull him back. Resting his chin on Q’s shoulder, he asked, “Is it comforting, then, to know that Mycroft will never see this?”

Q stiffened. “What do you mean? He sees _everything,_ ” he said, hunching forward to move into a better position for Bond’s hands.

“Double-oh nine may have accidentally made him sick, along with the model you replaced and two other officials, so no audience this time,” Bond said, ducking down to nuzzle along the side of Q’s neck that he could reach as he felt Q’s shoulders shake in silent laughter. Gently tilting Q’s head, he pressed his lips gently against Q’s mouth, silently asking for permission. Q sighed, but kissed him back, wrapping his arms around Bond’s neck and pulling Bond close.

Bond pulled away first, running a gentle hand through Q’s thick curls. “Tell you what. One kiss for each time you meet me back here, and then we’ll quietly disappear after your third time out there. Bet I can get us out of the city before Six notices we’re gone,” he whispered against Q’s skin, smiling when he heard Q huff in laughter.

“I expect to be taken somewhere nice, Mr. Bond. And there might be a bonus in for you if you can do it _without_ Mycroft _ever_ catching you,” Q whispered before kissing him lightly. “And I want a _deep_ kiss when I get back, understand?” he said, resting his hands on Bond’s chest.

“Perfectly,” Bond said, grinning even as he ran his hands down Q’s torso. “Now, how much time do you have before you have to go back on?”

“Not enough, that’s for sure,” Q said, playfully shooing Bond out of the changing room. “Now go stand outside before the others start wondering why I have a bodyguard.”

“Trust me, Q, that’s _not_ the first conclusion they’ll jump to,” Bond said, grinning as he allowed Q to push him out of the changing room.

“Then let’s not make that assumption a reality, hm?” Q kissed him once more on the cheek before ducking back into the changing room. “We can do a repeat of last night once we’re in France if you’re that into it,” he said, the sound of a zipper nearly drowning out his words.

“Let me put you into a tuxedo first, and then you can model all you want,” Bond said, laughing when Q raised a hand over the door to flip him off.

_Forty-five minutes, and then this show will be over. Hang in there, Q, I know you can do it._

_Do it for me, if anything._


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Mena? _Mena, you dumb dog, come back here!”_

Q watched somewhat helplessly as his black retriever tore off into the darkness and across the white strip of beach where he’d been tossing sticks for her to burn off her energy right before bed. Shaking his head, he tore off after her, using the moonlight as his guide and to avoid the stick he’d just thrown less than five minutes ago. “Mena, _Mena!_ Come back here, girl, _come!”_ he shouted, forcing himself to run faster as he followed her barking. Grateful that he’d left his jacket behind for once, he remained careful to stay away from the water’s edge, aware of the warnings about the merfolk that were rumored to live nearby. _If you’re close enough to the water, they can drag you down and under._

In his defense, the beach was the only ‘safe’ place that had enough space to play with Mena at night. The town watch always closed the gates at night, sealing off all land borders, but the dockyards and beaches only received cursory glances at nightfall.

No one wanted to get close, after all, at nighttime when the merfolk hunted.

His lungs burned as he followed Mena’s barking down the beach towards the cliffs that overlooked the sea below. Q was more familiar with this area; the two coves that served as his workshop and storage area were hidden away near the water’s edge, creating his emergency exit through an underwater hole in the rock. He only went into the coves during the day, unwilling to risk his life with a hunting merman or mermaid sneaking into his cove while he worked in peace.

“Mena, you moron, I didn’t fake a throw this far out, I even actually threw the bloody stick,” he managed to gasp between pants as he finally stopped near where Mena stood, pacing anxiously in the sand. He glanced back and sharply exhaled when he realized that he could only barely see the yellow lights from town. “All right, all right, we can go now, let’s go back home-”

He stopped talking when he spotted the prone figure lying face down in the shallow water near where the waves lapped the sand. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he muttered, pulling his shoes off before running into the water. “Not another one, not another one,” he whispered frantically to himself as he splashed his way towards the man, whose light hair glinted in the moonlight. Aware that the noise would attract every hunter from a mile out—the merfolk were rumored to have sharp hearing—he tried to slow down, sloshing in water halfway up his calves as he finally approached the man. Ignoring Mena’s barks, he immediately knelt in the cold water, flipping the man over and supporting his head above the surface.

For a moment, Q remained still, watching carefully for a sign of life as he noticed that the deep and long wounds on the man’s exposed torso still leaked dark blood into the water— _must have been a recent attack_ —and glanced around, wondering if the merman or mermaid was still lurking nearby. He was unarmed, and he’d trained Mena since a puppy never to go near the water after he’d taught her how to swim. Gritting his teeth, he hooked his hands under the man’s shoulders and began to drag him ashore, wondering if he was a fisherman or one of the sailors on the recently arrived ship-- _El_ _cráneo ingenioso_ —that happened to either slip or become an ambush victim. It was still somewhat relieving, though, to see that the man’s chest still moved.

His only warning was the abrupt appearance of two tight grips on his forearms.

A surge of strength and a curled body pitched startled Q forward over the man’s head and chest and straight into something _wet_ and slimy that smacked him full in the face. With a loud squawk he tumbled to the side into the dark seawater, immediately scrabbling his way back to the surface even as he felt a pair of strong hands grasp his shoulders in an attempt to drag him back down.

_Fucking trap!_

“ _Mena! Go!”_ he shouted for the brief second that he was above water before he was dragged down again, kicking and fighting as best he could while closing his eyes and focusing on his fists. He curled into a ball in an effort to turn around, bumping his head against the sandy seabed as he grasped the hands before they could reach his neck. When he finally managed to resurface, he heard the distinctive low snarl with a familiar clicking sound: not a hunter locating prey, but a warrior alerting others to the threat.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-_ “Let me go!” Q howled as he resurfaced again, this time clawing for the beach as the hands mercifully slipped to his waist and began to drag him back into the water. He went back under a second later, trying not to open his mouth and scream as he tried clawing through the sand.

He felt the moment his knee hit the other’s chin.

The merman’s hands abruptly released him, drifting down his sides before disappearing. Disoriented and eyes stinging, Q groaned when he realized his glasses were missing and he had no idea where the hell the merman had gone off too: _another surprise attack?_

A low moan answered his question, and he squinted to find a blurry shape rolling over onto its side and curling in on itself, this time partially out of the water with the gently rolling waves pushing it farther onto the beach. Q whistled for Mena, and then hesitated, tempted to go back home and hide and pretend this never happened.

 _No one deserves to die alone_.

Q sighed, shoulders slumping as he prepared to make perhaps the final mistake of his twenty-nine years. Slowly now, in case the merman had reinforcements lurking nearby, he approached the form, sloshing his way over even as he heard the distinctive splashes of Mena crashing through the surf towards him.

He carefully moved around the heaving form, carefully kneeling at the merman’s side and placing an awkward hand on the man’s shoulder. The feeling of extremely small scales momentarily distracted him, but a low growl broke his concentration. To his credit, the other did not move except to look up at Q.

Q hesitated, and then leaned closer in an attempt to make eye contact as best he could. “I am almost as blind as a fucking bat now right now, but Mena’s eyesight is perfect for a dog of her age. I’m going to pull your sorry hide somewhere where no one can find you so that you can either die or recover in peace. Then you leave, and we both go home pretending this never happened,” he said in a low voice, using the hand on the merman’s shoulder to balance himself.

“Why?” The merman’s voice was gravely and rough with disuse, completely at odds with what Q had learned about the merfolk when he was still a child.

“Because unlike my brothers, I haven’t learned that caring isn’t an advantage. Lucky for you,” he said, moving around the figure to push him back into the water. “You’re too heavy to carry, and I don’t know if you can breathe water or air without assistance,” he said, moving deeper to keep the merman floating.

“Well, you’re young for one of your species, are you not? Too young to be getting involved in this disagreement and therefore be less ignorant about my kind; you still have spots,” the merman sniped back as Q waded in until the water was up to his chest so he could keep guiding the merman to where he hoped was the entrance to his cove. He could hear Mena bounding out of the water, and hoped that she had the sense to go to the workshop; he couldn’t think of any other place where he could guarantee safety.

“Well, age is clearly no guarantee of efficiency, since you couldn’t kill me even though I couldn’t see a fucking thing even then,” Q growled as he felt along the rock for the telltale jagged edges of the hole while using the other hand to keep the merman afloat. It was still in between low and high tides, which meant that the hole would be entirely underwater by now.

“And youth is no guarantee of innovation, since you couldn’t come up with a safer- _fuck!_ ”

“Sorry about that,” Q said, not feeling _too_ remorseful about accidentally knocking the man’s head into the rock. “Just shut up and when you feel the hole in the rock, watch your head for when I push you through.”

He felt the lines of panic through the man’s body before he put all his effort into submerging the merman and diving in after.

He used his hands against the rock to locate the hole in the cliffs, and then placed a hand where he guessed the top of the hole to be, using it as a barrier against the merman’s body as he did his best to slide the merman tail-first into the cove. He swam right behind the merman, doing his best to protect the merman from bumps against the rock. He resurfaced a few seconds later, gasping for breath as he heard Mena’s whimpers.

Pulling the merman up onto the ledge was another task altogether.

After locating his spare set of glasses, he turned on a few emergency candles after making sure that the ventilation shafts were still clear of birds’ nests. Mena whined as he padded around her towards the shallow ledge where he propped the merman into a sitting position. He slowly exhaled as he took in the pale features and light hair, blinking at the startling blue-green color of the long, scaly tail that draped over the edge and out of sight. He swallowed when he spotted several, small sharp fins along the side, and rubbed his arms in silent thanks that he hadn’t cut himself on any of them.

“See something you like?”

“ _No!”_ Q snapped as he scrambled to stand up again to the other’s amusement. “I don’t even know your name, so don’t be getting ideas,” he grumbled, tilting his head to get a better look at the injuries. In the light, the injuries looked worse; the blood trailed sluggishly down the merman’s exposed torso _,_ and Q saw what he hoped _wasn’t_ a spearhead still sticking out of the merman’s side. “Okay, okay, um, let me find some cloths that aren’t wet along with towels-”

“James.”

Q paused. “What?” he asked, looking up.

“My name. In your language, it would be James,” the merman— _James_ —replied.

Q narrowed his eyes slightly. “You’re very articulate in English for someone who lives underwater,” he said, tensing in case James was about to spring another trap.

“I learned from a young age. It became a necessity once humans began to cross the waters, and got lost more often than you think,” James said, shrugging with one shoulder before nodding to the towel in Q’s hand. “Use that, and you’ll only kill me faster,” he growled as he lowered his shoulders so that only his head remained above the water. “Use wet cloths instead to bind me up, and then I’ll pull the spearhead out.”

“Just don’t do it before I get the binds ready,” Q said, warily pulling off his soaked shirt before reminding himself that he had no reason to be suddenly self-conscious of his appearance. He turned around, scanning his workshop for any cloths that he could soak before using them so he wouldn’t have to use his trousers.

_Thunk!_

_“What the hell did I just say about not pulling that out before I was ready?”_ Q screeched, turning around in time to see James tossing the spearhead off to the side before sagging against the rock.

Somehow, he suspected he was going to be patching James up for a long time.

Especially since he knew next to nothing about mer-physiology, and James was slowly becoming nonresponsive.

* * *

“Don’t touch that.”

Q heard rather than saw James set the metal components back on the stone floor, and returned his attention to the odd-smelling paste that he was mashing together at James’s instructions. He glanced up to make sure that Mena waited obediently by the entrance, and then stifled a yawn, deciding that the workshop floor hadn’t been the best place for a nap. After the horrendous patching jobs the night before, Q had fallen asleep on the floor just out of James’s reach. No one would miss him; his shop in town usually closed at twilight and was closed for the next three days, as it was every week.

He finally looked up at James and said, “What’s next?”

“Slathering it on the wounds. Start with my back, and don’t cover them up with anything but the paste,” James said, easing himself onto the ledge that had served as his resting place for the night, the low tide leaving the water level at his waist compared to his shoulders the night before. Q had fully expected James to be gone in the morning—mortally or physically—but to his surprise, James had been instead lurking near the bottom of the pool of water within the cove, holding a struggling fish that Q assumed to be breakfast. He’d resurfaced when he spotted Q.

“If, um, you don’t mind me asking,” Q said carefully as he set the bowl close to where James sat, “What happened that ended up with you in the water so close to shore?”

James narrowed his eyes, a faint snarl rising from the back of his throat that caused Mena to whimper and back away. Q raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just a question, you don’t have to answer,” he said, taking a bit of the paste in hand and nudging James forward with three fingers. “It’s just that merfolk never get this close to shore, and when they do, it’s usually the hunters, not the warriors.”

“How can you tell the difference between us?” James asked, scooting forward to allow Q better access to his lower back.

“My oldest brother taught me the difference in the clicks, mostly so he could feel better about me wandering off when I was younger,” Q said, frowning when he saw that a few wounds were actually gouges into the skin, deep and raw compared the superficial scrapes that decorated James’s torso. He hesitated before rubbing the paste across James’s exposed back as instructed, well aware of the thick muscles underneath the skin. “I used to go down to the beach with my other brother so we could play pirates almost every day. We soon got too old for the game, and he got interested in solving crimes so he headed out to the city. I stayed behind because it’s quiet here and I can work in peace.” Sitting back on his heels, he said, “That’s it for your back, you can do the rest now.”

“Is there someone who would notice that you’re missing?” James asked, body tensing as Q stood up.

“Not anymore, well, except for my three customers once I open the shop again, which won’t be for another three days. This is where I usually work, but I can leave as long as you want me to if you’d like some privacy,” Q said, brushing his trousers off before walking over to his workbench.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind if you stayed here, at least I’d know where you are,” James said, twisting slightly to make eye contact with Q before he took the jar of paste.

 _Suspicious much?_ “What you do here and now is none of my business just as long as you don’t name me as your accomplice to humans or your people,” Q said, sitting down at his worktable.

“Kind of hard to name an accomplice without a name,” James pointed out slipping off the ledge and drifting closer to the rock edge closest to Q, little waves rippling around the small pool in his wake. He rested folded arms on the edge and said, “What is your name? Hardly fair to have mine without yours in return.”

Q scowled at him. “It’s ‘Q’. Yes it’s a pseudonym, and no, I’m not telling you what it stands for,” he said, arching an eyebrow before straightening in his seat. He hesitated, and then said, “I will have to leave to eat, I don’t, um, eat fish raw.”

“I eat more than just fish,” James said with a faint smirk as he rested his chin on his arms, startling blue eyes watching Q carefully. “Besides, I do tend to spare potential prey from time to time, when the mood strikes me. But you can always bring your food back here.”

“I’m not going to sell you out, James, _please_ stop worrying about it,” Q said, unable to keep the annoyance from his voice. “I kind of don’t want other people to know about this cove since it’s not only private, but also full of valuable things I’m planning to sell later. So if it’s all right with you, I won’t call you out if you don’t give yourself and this cove away,” he added, turning to face James, who shrugged with his shoulders. He frowned, and then said, “You’ve got the paste, why aren’t you treating yourself?”

“Bleeding stopped during the night, and there’s something more interesting to look at right now,” James said, smirking once in Q’s direction before deliberately looking Q over. Q scowled and flipped him off. “Besides, I can’t reach a few spots.”

“Liar, you have more flexibility than I do, as you so wonderfully demonstrated last night,” Q shot back, shaking his head as he turned back to his workbench, leaning forward to focus on the customized clock he was making.

A weary sigh, and then: _splash!_

Q whipped around to reprimand James yet again, but then realized that the merman was gone and out of sight. Trying to quell the panic—he had no way of explaining James’s presence if someone found out—he stopped at the edge to find that James had merely retreated to the bottom of the pool with the jar. He knelt at the edge, watching in slight fascination as James treated himself, the paste somehow sticking despite the water around him. His shoulders were slightly slumped, as though he’d dropped his posture now that he was out of the public eye, and Q saw the grimace of pain even as he flexed his shoulders.

With a sigh, Q swallowed back his guilt as he splashed his fingers in the water to catch James’s attention. James stiffened when he looked up, but Q merely pointed to the ledge before standing up and walking over. He wasn’t entirely sure that James would go for it, but didn’t say anything when James swam up and broke the surface, twisting around in one motion so that his back was to Q. Q took the offered wet jar and began to slather the paste on James’s torso. “Does it hurt?” he asked after a moment.

“Not important, I’ve faced worse than spears and knives,” James replied, shrugging with one shoulder.

 _Spears and knives?_ Q leaned forward so that he could look at James in the eye. “What the hell were you doing by the Navy dockyards? Even _I’m_ not allowed there, I’m just a civilian,” he asked, keeping his voice down despite his sudden curiosity.

James eyed him before he said, “They keep you very well in the dark, don’t they? I followed a ship here, one that’s recently arrived and has a friend of mine onboard for some reason that even we haven’t discovered. My friend’s husband, another friend of mine, was too injured from the initial ambush and couldn’t follow, so I went instead.”

Q stared at him, completely at a loss of what to say. “The only ship that has recently arrived are traders, everyone knows the captain well,” he said, going back to slathering the paste. “Raoul Silva is the captain’s name, he always stops by my shop when he visits here. His business is always in the dockyards, though, so I don’t really inquire about _why_ he wants what he buys from me. He’s the only one who’s arrived recently.”

James didn’t say anything, merely turned to stare straight ahead again. Frowning, Q made a mental note to keep a closer eye on James, in case he did something stupid and leave before he was fully healed and up to strength.

Q didn’t know why it mattered to him that James be careful, but he ignored that thought.

_I don’t want my work to go to waste. Yes, that’s why._

* * *

Q tried not to show that he was worried.

Two days since James’s arrival, and the merman hadn’t left the cove as far as Q knew. But he wanted to, Q knew he did; Q had noticed over the hours how James kept stealing glances at the hole in the rock that led to open sea, before side-eyeing Q as though to check that the other wasn’t looking at him. Finally, after watching James swim in lazy circles around the pool for several hours, Q hesitated, and then said, “You shouldn’t go rescue your friend yet, at least not until you’re up to full strength. Which we both know you’re not, since you tried to trick me into the water earlier and couldn’t even _pull_ me in. You’re not going to be doing her much of a favor.”

“Oh, I’ve already left the cove when you were out getting lunch,” James replied, tail drifting in the water lazily below him as he continued to stare at the underwater entrance. “Several times, in fact, to scope the dockyards out.”

Q blinked. “Then why bother staying here?” he asked, setting down the gas lamp he’d been tinkering with for the last few hours.

“Maybe because I’m not up to strength, just as you pointed out,” James replied, glancing at Q. “Maybe because it was only a short distance to the dockyards, and I’m rather outnumbered even if I were to convince you to help me.”

“And even then, I’m not sure I’d be much help to you,” Q said, gesturing to himself briefly before turning back to his work. “The Navy sailors are always highly trained, and the ones there now even more so since Captain Silva takes pride in his crew and trains them himself. His methods are legendary, and not in a good way; we all just steer clear of him if possible when he comes here. I’m also _really_ the last person you would want to help because I am nowhere _near_ the same level of physical strength you are. Or they are, for that matter,” he said, setting his work aside and walking over to where James relaxed against the edge.

James narrowed his eyes, and then hoisted himself back onto the ledge, putting him nose-to-nose with a startled Q. “The more time I waste here, the more likely it is she’ll be dead,” he growled, shifting his stance slightly to better face Q. “As much as I fucking _hate_ to admit it, I need your help because you can distract what sailors are present and figure out where they’re holding her.”

“I’m going to get injured, possibly killed,” Q pointed out.

“I’ll deal with it if it happens. You seem to be short for a human though, and from what I understand, that means you’re relatively quick on your feet,” James said, blinking when Q snorted. “What?”

“First I’m too young, and now I’m too short for my age. Thanks,” Q grumbled as he started to stand up.

“No, wait, I meant-”

Without warning, James stopped talking, reached up, grasped the hem of Q’s shirt, and _pulled_.

Q blamed his lack of attention as the reason that he yelped and pitched forward, landing gracelessly (and painfully) into the water while miraculously avoiding the rocks surrounding the pool. Panic shot through his chest as he twisted around in the cold seawater, well aware of the angered and restless predator above him while he was once again blinded. He opened his mouth to scream when he felt hands grasp his waist and pull him closer to their owner, and regretted the action instantly once his mouth filled with water.

_I can’t believe I’m going to die like this._

Warm lips abruptly pressed against his, bodies twisting so that Q was on top of what he suspected to be James. The seawater in his mouth trickled out, aided by a strange pressure against his chest, before a sharp movement propelled the two of them forward and through the water surface. Q gasped as James pulled back from him, coughing as James pushed him onto the ledge. For a few moments, he lay there panting as James made himself comfortable nearby.

Then: “I can’t fucking see again.”

He flinched when he heard a _splash_ , but then felt James press his glasses into his hand again. “What was that for? Pulling me in?” he asked, blinking as he slipped his glasses back on to glare at James, who was hanging onto another rock.

James frowned. “Do you not pull clothing to get each other’s attention?” he asked.

Q nearly groaned aloud. “You pull _gently_ on the sleeve, not the hem,” he said, pulling his own shirtsleeve for emphasis. “What was it that you wanted to say then?” he asked, resting his head in his folded arms.

“I hadn’t meant to offend you. Small indicates that you are quick and therefore less of a target,” James said quietly, and Q swallowed when he felt the tail brush against his leg through a layer of soaked cloth. “Once we are done, you will never hear from neither my friend nor me again. You know this town, you know the people, and if what you say is true, I will never find anyone else.”

Q hesitated, wondering if James truly needed help or had an ulterior motive. He sighed, and then said, “Fine, I’ll help you. But we get it done in a timely manner since I know that Captain Silva won’t stay in port long. I can offer him a one-on-one opportunity to see my stuff, since my shop is closed now, and somehow coax him that meeting him on his ship is the best way to go about it. Once I’m on the bloody big ship, I’ll look for your friend. What’s she like?”

“Temperamental, might verbally shred you to bits once you meet,” James said, smirking before pushing away from his spot and into the pool. “I’ll distract the sailors as best I can, and you try to get her out through the bottom of the ship; there are portholes, I checked. If it sinks in the process, well, not my fault. Tell her that I’ll be in the water, and tell her as soon as you meet since she’ll verbally shred _me_ for being tenacious enough to disobey orders,” he said with a faint smirk, turning around to join Q again, noses bumping into each other as he nearly crowded Q against the pool edge.

Q blinked, suddenly hyperaware of their sudden proximity. “Um,” he began slowly, heart thudding in his chest slightly as he stared into James’s eyes, really more a solid blue compared to the blue-green of his tail. “I really, really don’t think this is a good idea-”

“Then don’t think,” James murmured before leaning in and pulling Q close for an unexpected kiss, tail curling gently around Q’s legs as a hand curled around the back of Q’s neck, holding him still. Stunned, Q stiffened for a split second before James gently pulled on his lower lip with teeth and then he melted without thinking, gently resting his arms on James’s bare shoulders as James pressed closer, the free hand gently skimming up Q’s shirt before resting on his ribcage.

_What am I doing?_

Q pulled away, nearly bumping his head against a rock. “Yeah…um, we should figure out how to even get into the dockyards…” he mumbled, twisting around pulling himself out of the water— _he’s doing this to entice you to do something else that could be fatal, it doesn’t mean anything_ —before he pulled off his glasses and reached for a towel. “I’ll try to get in touch with Silva tonight, see if we can agree to an early or late meeting so that you can still have nightfall to use as cover.”

“I’ve offended you,” James said, frowning.

“No, no, no, no, I just, um, no, not a good idea,” he mumbled, face burning with embarrassment—he could just _hear_ Mycroft lecturing him on the stupidity of nearly falling for that particular trap—as he brusquely toweled himself off. “Mena can stay here with you while I go to arrange the meeting, I should do that soon since I don’t know how long he’ll be here.” He reached for his glasses, gently drying them off before turning to face James, whose face had smoothed over into a neutral expression. Q nodded once, as though to remind himself, and then said, “I’ll be right back, um, sorry.”

_Sorry for what, I don’t know._

He left before James could reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Also: if you want to read an amazing 00Q fic with mer!James and winged!Q, go read the first chapter of Fishwrites's fic 'Watermarked').


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Q? Q, wake up.”

When the other did not immediately respond, instead turned around in bed to face the other way, Bond straddled Q long enough to lean forward and press a deep kiss against Q’s lips, teasing the other with small bites against the lower lip until he felt Q squirm enough to eagerly return the kiss. Then he rolled off Q, earning a groan from the younger man. “That was cruel, double-oh seven,” Q complained, annoyance evident in his tone as he tried to swipe at Bond.

“Well, now that you’re up, we can go,” Bond said, getting off the bed while ignoring Q’s grumbles. “I had an ulterior reason to come to Greece for our leave, and there is no way in _hell_ we’re going to miss it.” He paused, and then turned in time to see Q rolling back underneath the duvet. “Oh, no you don’t,” he said, reaching over and pulling the duvet off Q.

“What time is it?” Q mumbled, reaching for the digital clock as Bond began to get dressed. “James, I appreciate your military-diligence at getting up early before the sun, but _two in the fucking morning is way too fucking early_ even for you,” he snarled, nearly dropping the clock as he twisted around to glare at Bond. “What could be so cataclysmically important that _I_ have to get up at two in the morning with you?”

Bond leaned down so that he was nearly nose-to-nose with Q. “I’ll make it up to you, if you just humor me,” he said, grinning as Q sighed, leaning his head back for a moment. “I’ll make it up however you want me to,” he repeated, gently rolling his hips against Q’s for emphasis, smirking when Q groaned faintly before flopping back into bed. “You can even wear your pajamas, we’re just going out onto the patio.”

 _“Fine_ , just let me dress in peace, you menace.”

“That’s ‘gorgeous menace’ to you,” Bond teased before leaning forward for another kiss against Q’s warm neck, nibbling the skin for a moment and teasing a few moans from his lover for a couple of minutes before moving off Q, earning a swat for his efforts. “Come on, two minutes or you’ll miss it.”

“Miss _what_ exactly?” Q grumbled as he disentangled himself from the sheets, skin beautifully pale against the moonlight shining through the sheer white curtains of their bedroom. He peered over the bed and said, “I have no idea where my pajamas are.”

“Wear this,” Bond said, tossing him one of his T-shirts before unlocking the patio door. “Two minutes, or I’m coming back in here to drag you back outside, clothes or not.”

Bond could hear Q grumbling inside even as he pulled out the black case that he’d requisitioned before departure from London, disguised as a sniper rifle case to Q, an instrument case to the normal observer. He opened it and began carefully assembling the delicate pieces inside, aware that 003 would skin him alive without regret if any of the pieces were damaged upon return.

He was in the process of calibrating the telescope when he heard Q pad out onto the patio, and tilted his head in acknowledgement before returning his attention to the adjustments. Silence, and then, “Where did you get that?”

“Borrowed, from Martin. Astronomy was included in naval training so in the event that instruments failed, you could continue to sail to the nearest port for repairs. Meant for emergencies, but it’s something that never quite left after I did,” Bond said, glancing up at the clear skies before readjusting the telescope. “Can’t quite see the stars very well in London, and I thought you wouldn’t mind a trip to the Mediterranean to get out of the cold for a little while,” he said, finally moving aside to let Q close. “For once, the timing worked out perfectly.”

“Timing? Timing for _what_?” Q asked, the irritation slightly gone from his voice as he stared through the lenses.

Bond glanced at his watch, and said, “Wait a few-”

Q’s gasp caught his attention.

Smirking to himself, he looked overhead in time to see two meteors cross the sky. “You can technically see them with the naked eye,” he said softly as Q pulled away from the telescope to look up without assistance. “But I didn’t know if you would be able to see them with glasses on.”

“I can see them,” Q whispered, hand seeking out and tightening around Bond’s. “I can see them,” he whispered excitedly, squeezing Bond’s hand as a few meteors appeared again, bright yet momentary streaks of light across the sky.

Bond merely smiled, kissing the back of Q’s hand as they watched the meteor shower finally start overhead.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Fear of thunderstorms

_CRACK!_

Q snapped awake at the rumbling thunder, heart clawing its way into his throat as he abruptly sat up and looked around the bedroom, momentarily disoriented. A grunt at his side, and he remembered that he was in his flat, with a worn out Double-O curled up next to him on the bed. Willing his heart to slow down a little, Q closed his eyes and bowed his head, breathing in and out through his nose in an effort to relax. He knew James was tired, having just returned from a six-month mission in Venezuela, and did his best not to disturb the agent while moving to lie back down in bed.

_It’s just a thunderstorm, just a thunderstorm, can’t hurt you-_

_CRACK!_

Q’s heart froze for the split second that the lightning washed the bedroom in a bright white light, creating shadows and killers and creatures that logically, he knew weren’t there. He flinched when the thunder crashed almost directly overhead, heart thudding in his throat as he forced himself to lie down again, trying to remain as still as possible as to not disturb James…or to let him now that old childhood fears were threatening to return. _Nothing can hurt me, James has faced worse and will never let it go if he knows-_

Another flash, and Q bit his lip to muffle the whimper, woodenly scooting forward to grab his pillow and bury his head underneath. _It’ll be over soon, it has to be-_

He hadn’t realized how bad he was shaking until he felt a hand resting on his exposed hip, the touch nearly vibrating. _Fuck, now James is awake_. He sighed, and pushed the sheets back. “Sorry for waking you up, I’ll move to the couch,” he whispered into the darkness, nearly choking on his own words when there was another flash of light in the room.

The hand slid down until James’s arm was around Q’s waist, tightening as the agent pulled himself up far enough to stop Q from escaping. “Alex, what’s wrong?” he whispered, the semi-unfamiliar name enough to stop Q in his tracks.

“Nothing, was getting up anyway,” Q said, voice wavering at the next flash and rumble overhead their flat.

Silence, and then, “Is it the lightning, thunder, or both?”

 _Shit._ “A childhood fear I never really recovered from, if you’ll excuse me,” Q said, attempting to climb out of bed again as James sat up straight. The agent was faster, or Q was still too tired to react quickly, but either way Q felt the splayed hand across his chest a second before James gently pushed him back down onto the bed, the air escaping his lungs in a _whoosh_ as his head hit the pillow. He sighed when he felt James curl up against him and pull him into a loose spoon. “James, just let me up and you can sleep.”

“It’s all right, I don’t mind,” James murmured against his ear as he pulled Q closer, draping his arm protectively around Q. “Tell me a story from your childhood, something amusing that you haven’t told anyone else.”

Q snorted, but allowed himself to try relaxing. Another flash of white, and his heart began thudding again in his chest. “I can’t-”

He let out a soft yelp when James abruptly turned him around so that they were face-to-face. Before he could question James’s actions, James tucked him underneath his chin and snuggling a bit closer before falling still. “There, you can’t see it now,” James said softly with a note of pride in his tone as he lazily ran a hand through Q’s hair.

Q nuzzled him for a moment, smiling softly as he felt James’s heart rate slow down with sleep again, and then finally relaxed again.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Sexual content

Bond woke to Q moving around on the bed.

He remained still with closed eyes, careful to maintain his breathing as he felt Q twist around— _to look at the clock_ —and quietly enjoyed the slide of naked skin against his arm as he felt Q deflate— _he’s going to be late to work if I don’t let him go—_ and then fall still again. His first morning back home after three weeks and he’d be damned if he didn’t get to sleep in curled around his lover like he’d been fantasizing for weeks. He began to drift back to sleep again, feeling the warm skin underneath his palms where he gently caressed Q’s torso.

Then he felt a sudden jerking sensation, and he lunged forward to keep his grip on Q, earning a low squeal. “I _knew_ you weren’t asleep, you bastard,” Q growled, twisting around in Bond’s grip and poking him in the nose. Bond grinned but opened his eyes, looking fondly down at sleep-muddled hazel eyes and tousled black hair. “Let me go; unlike you, some of us have a schedule that keeps going even after a mission is over.”

“Let me think about that… no,” Bond said before scooting back to his side of the bed, careful not to loosen his grip on Q. Smirking, he nuzzled Q for a few moments and said, “Your branch is perfectly capable of running itself without you present.”

“I _know_ , but as their leader, I have to set the example. It’s bad enough that I came into work that one day missing clothes and needing a shower just because we had a shag _right before_ you let me go in,” Q said, scowling even as he leaned forward to press a kiss against Bond’s lips, which Bond eagerly accepted.

“Maybe you need to plan your exit strategy a bit better,” Bond said, grinning as he rolled onto his back, taking Q with him. He stifled a groan when he felt a familiar hand wrap itself around his semi-hard cock, and said in a rough voice, “Q, you’re only going to make yourself later.”

“Shush, I’m trying to distract you so I can make my escape,” Q said, grinning before he kissed Bond again, propping himself up over the agent before grinding their hips together and earning another deep groan from Bond. Bond obediently tipped his head back to allow Q space to nibble the skin underneath his jaw, a hand coming up around to rest on the back of Q’s neck to hold him in place.

“You know, distractions only _work_ —if you have a means of escape,” Bond said, voice catching as Q briefly fought his hold to come back up for another deep kiss, punctuating the move with a thrust of hips against his own. Keeping one hand on Q’s back, he wrapped the other around Q’s waist before flipping the two of them over, settling his weight down on Q as he leaned forward for another kiss as Q reached up to hold onto his shoulders. He pulled away a second later, looking down at Q panting with swollen lips slightly parted, his black hair fanned out against the cream sheets. “But you don’t have an escape, my dear Quartermaster, do you? No, I have you trapped, right here where I want you,” he said, pausing as he watched Q carefully for any flickers of discontent or any spoken words to stop.

It took Q a few seconds to regain the breath to whisper, “It does appear you have trapped me, Commander Bond. I am completely at your mercy.” He smirked when Bond groaned and felt a spike of lust at the use of the title, his eyes fluttering closed when Bond leaned down to bite and worry the skin between his teeth, nuzzling underneath Q’s jaw and sucking a bruise at Q’s pulse. Then he moaned, receiving a low growl in response when Bond ground their erections together, wrapping a hand around them both as he tugged at Q’s lower lip with his teeth in time with the pulls. He ran a hand through sweaty hair as Q began whispering— _please James, more, more, please, harder—_ and tilted Q’s head back to begin gently biting the pale skin of Q’s throat.

Bond wasn’t sure who came first, just that Q groaned in relief as Bond curled forward and grunted as they came. Q lay limply in a wonderful mess of sheets and come as Bond leaned back on his heels to admire his handiwork, running gentle fingers down Q’s sweaty and heaving chest as Q came down from his high. His spent cock twitched as he ran his fingers through the splattered come, considering the possibility of rubbing the come into Q’s skin.

“Do that, and the consequences will be painful for you,” Q growled, peering down his stomach where Bond’s fingers rested.

“You don’t know what I was thinking,” Bond mildly pointed out.

“You’re staring at my stomach, which is covered in come, and you’ve got your fingers in it. I think I can guess what you’re thinking,” Q said, propping himself up on his elbows as he gestured for Bond to lean forward.

Bond smirked before leaning down for the kiss. “I can wipe you down before you go,” he offered, running his fingers suggestively back up Q’s torso.

“No, because I have to shower anyway for work, and while M may have eight other double-ohs at his disposal, he’s only got one of _me_ ,” Q said, stretching his spine before sitting up. He leaned forward and kissed Bond lightly before whispering, “But I’ll try to get out at the regular time today.”

Bond reluctantly moved to let him go, watching Q’s arse as the other man climbed out of bed and headed towards the ensuite bath. “Maybe I’ll come in later,” he said once Q disappeared.

“You’re only allowed in Q-Branch if you have your _completed_ debrief. And of your mission, not of your clothes,” Q said, leaning back into the room with a smirk and a wink before disappearing again.

Bond chuckled before turning to hunt for either pants or trousers, whichever he found first.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_If that is who I think it is, I’m going to murder James in his sleep._

“James… please, please, for the love of everything holy and sacred, please tell me that I did not wake up earlier to see Sherlock at my bedside,” Q moaned as James pressed a gentle hand against his cough-wracked chest and pushed him back down on the bed. A few more coughs sent jolts of pain down his torso and he turned his head in an effort to seek something cold against his sweaty forehead.

“No, I’m sorry, that was him. You fell ill early this morning and I called John to look you over since I thought you were too sick to move to Medical. Sherlock just invited himself along, as usual,” James said, using a blessedly cool flannel to wipe Q’s forehead before turning it over to the cool side and resting it on his forehead. Q heard the chair creak as James relaxed in it, and then he heard James say, “I’ve got the chair this time, though. Your brother is a lightweight, he won’t be able to move me and I don’t think John will dare try.”

“That’s— _cough, cough_ —that’s because unlike him, you’re actually _licensed_ to carry a gun on your person,” Q said, voice scratchy as he squinted at the James-colored blob. “You don’t have to be here, you know.”

The blob shrugged. “I know, but I want to be,” he said, looking over at Q.

“Don’t you have an assignment to run? What did— _cough, cough_ —M say when you didn’t show up to work?” Q whispered, finding his voice impossible to use at normal volume.

“He called because your branch panicked when you failed to show up, I told him you were sick, and I would be watching you along with a doctor who was a friend of the family,” James said, rubbing his temple. “I may have let it go out of control when Sherlock took the phone from me and talked to M for a while, I give it a couple hours before Mycroft shows up as well,” he admitted, ducking his head slightly.

Q weakly shook his head. “He won’t come if one of us is sick, he can’t afford to get sick because he thinks if he does, England will inevitably collapse before he’s had a chance to recover. Which could be why Sherlock is here, to catch what I have and pass it on to him,” he said, frowning as the thought occurred to him. “Oh God, Mycroft will kill both of us if he does that…”

James nodded. “He’s actually working on a cold case right now. You drifted off to sleep after you saw him, so he’s waiting for you to wake up again. But I’ll go warn John, don’t worry,” he said, standing up to leave. He twitched, as though to bend down to kiss Q’s forehead, but instead brushed a gentle hand against the side of Q’s face instead.

“You really should go to work, though, so you don’t catch what I have and be out of commission. M may never forgive me if I got his best ill,” Q mumbled as James began to leave the room.

“He’s got eight other double-oh agents to mess around with, five of which are home right now. I think he’s set for now,” James replied, his blob checking Q over once before he said, “I love you.” Then he left the room, closing the door with a quiet _click_.

Q smiled weakly to himself. _I love you too,_ he thought before drifting off into a doze.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_“Any sign of Lefèvre or his date?”_

“None at all,” Bond murmured under his breath as he scanned the main dining floor of the upscale Parisian restaurant. He glanced in the corner near the large bay windows that the informant said that Lefèvre favored, but found no one but a skinny, thick dark-haired man with glasses sitting there, chin resting in hand as he toyed with the appetizer. A second place was set, but the chair remained empty. “Just a young man, no one else. Definitely not Lefèvre.”

 _“The date then?_ ”

 _Hell if I know,_ Bond thought darkly but considered the possibility as he waited by the host’s podium, where he’d been politely lurking on the pretense of waiting for his evening companion. No one knew much about Lefèvre’s preferences or whom he was currently seeing, but he could always make a date out of it if the young man was alone. “Let me check,” he murmured before pulling his earpiece out and stuffing it into a pocket, aware that Major Boothroyd would be furious with him later.

“Excuse me?” he said, startling the young man into looking up at him. He noted the brief flash of hope that had appeared in the other’s eyes for a split second before it died again. “I was simply wondering if everything was all right?”

The man flushed a delightful shade of pink, biting his lip for a second before he nodded. “I do apologize, sir, I, uh-”

“I’m not restaurant management, don’t worry,” Bond said, watching as the man visibly relax right before Bond slid into the seat across from him. “Just another patron. You looked a little lost, so I thought I’d make sure you were all right,” he said, keeping his voice light as the other man tilted his head in acknowledgement.

“Yes, I-I’m fine, you can stay. If you want, that is, I don’t think my date is going to show up if he’s been late for almost an hour,” the man said apologetically, extending a hand. “Quinn, but I go by Q.”

“Bond, James Bond.” He offered his trademark smile, earning a slight upwards twitch from the other man’s mouth. Bond signaled the hovering waiter before he asked, “For what it’s worth, your date should be ashamed for leaving a handsome man such as yourself all on your own,” he said as he opened the menu long enough to glance at the day’s specials.

Q laughed, shaking his head as Bond put in his order. “Do you say that to all the pretty women and men to cross your path?” he asked once the waiter had left.

“Only the special ones,” Bond said, leaning forward even as Q looked down at the table with a smile.

“I’m not _that_ special, I just work in programming,” Q said, looking up to meet Bond’s eyes. Up close, Bond could see that his eyes were more hazel than green, and Bond found the depths, which spoke of intelligence yet innocence, both distracting and intriguing. “Jean, my date that is, prefers the spotlight so people tend to recognize him more often,” Q explained as he pushed the appetizer plate across the table to Bond. “He works in transporting shipments for his regular clients, so he doesn’t really have much time for me. We’d been planning this for weeks now, but as ever, business called,” he explained, deflating slightly.

“Anniversary?” Bond asked, accepting the bottle of champagne the waiter brought over.

Q’s mouth twitched, but he nodded. “Our fifth, but I suppose this is overdoing it a bit,” he said, gesturing to the restaurant at large. He shrugged and said, “I thought it would be more preferable to sitting in front of a computer all night, pretending it was tomorrow, but business comes first.”

 _No one ever warned Lefèvre of the consequences of leaving a jilted lover unattended._ Bond knew what he had to do from here, gently worm his way into Q’s confidence and a step closer to Lefèvre. The other man seemed to be there of his own volition, and had little to no idea of his partner’s actual business of smuggling weapons with the miscellaneous cargo to different parts of the world. “How does this sound,” Bond began, catching Q’s attention again. “You and I have dinner here tonight, and we go from there?” he offered, ignoring the unfamiliar twinge of guilt at the thought of seducing Q and leaving him behind, as he always did on missions. Was it that Q was an innocent party in all of this, and Bond could see useful potential in him, potential that MI6 could benefit from?

Q shook his head, surprising Bond. “I can only promise dinner, as we’re both already here,” he said, leaning back in his own chair as he sipped his champagne. “But I do have to get back to work after this, Jean will want the codes in the morning. He’s probably forgotten today anyway, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s forgotten me from time to time, I barely see him as it is.” He glanced at Bond before offering a small smile. “But I wouldn’t be opposed to meeting up with you again after this, somewhere other than dinner.”

“I can work with that,” Bond replied, raising his glass in a silent toast before sipping it. Caught in Q’s unfettered smile, he leaned back in his chair, silently respectful of the openness of Q’s expression as the other ducked in embarrassment at the scrutiny. He may charm Q now, but Bond knew that it was only because he needed to draw Q in, lower his guard to reach the target. Once Q found out about his true purposes, he would not want to stay any longer.

_Would I be able to let him go?_

_Would he even survive that long?_

* * *

 

To Bond’s slight surprise, Q agreed to another ‘date’ a week later.

“You’ll have to excuse the mess, I don’t usually have company over, and Jean doesn’t care what the flat looks like,” Q said as he led Bond up the narrow staircase on one side of the five-floor building that had taken Bond nearly an hour to locate due to its unassuming façade. Bond noticed that he was visibly dressed down compared to their dinner together, and found, to his surprise, that Q seemed more _him_ when in comfortable clothes compared to the suit. Q abruptly paused, and turned around to face Bond before he said, “I forgot to check: are you allergic to cats?”

“Nope, no allergies here. What kind of cat do you have?” he asked, following Q to the dingy third floor where there were only four doors.

“Calico. Her name is Missy, she used to belong to my mother but she’s been with me ever since Mum died. She doesn’t usually like strangers, she still doesn’t like Jean even though we’ve been together for five years now, so she probably won’t come out for you,” Q said as he finally unlocked his door and went in first, keeping a foot in the crack long enough to let Bond in. “Again, sorry about the mess.”

“Could be worse,” Bond said, taking in the strewn-about clothes and cat toys as he balanced the take-away he’d picked up for the two of them. “Do you do your work here?”

“Yes. _Everything_ tech-related to Jean’s work goes on in here, he’s paranoid about competitors trying to take him out. So he hides me away, and has techs to put on a show for any troublemakers,” Q explained, waving a hand to a few monitors nearby. “Hang on, make yourself comfortable in the living room, I’ll be right back with cutlery and glasses. What do you want to drink?” he asked as he picked his way through the mess.

“Water, please,” Bond said, still not looking away from the set up. _He could be the tech master Major Boothroyd detected when examining Lefèvre’s system._ He glanced after Q, realizing that M would want to interrogate him anyway for creating a complicated enough system that scrambled itself each time Major Boothroyd attempted to interact with it, even on what he called ‘friendly terms’. He finally (accidentally) provoked the system to infect almost every MI6 system that had been remotely connected with the servers that Major Boothroyd used. “Q, is there anyone else who works on this system?” he asked, sitting down on the couch before taking the bags apart to separate the food.

“What? No, like I said, what Jean has is all for show. It’s me and two other people working on it, we switch positions depending on how we want to respond to threats,” Q explained as he came back. “For example, we had this one person poking around a while ago, and I just infected his systems instead of Mark outright destroying it.” He shook his head as he sat down. “It’s all right though, we don’t have to talk about it.”

“Why? Sounded pretty interesting to me,” Bond said as he pushed Q’s dinner towards him.

“You think so?” Q actually looked slightly hopeful when he made eye contact with Bond. “Jean doesn’t like to talk about it, just enough to make sure it does what he wants it to do,” he explained, passing Bond’s glass over to him before taking his food. “Sometimes I like to joke that he started dating me for the tech, not the other way around. We met when I came out of university and was taking time off in Prague to attend a specialized tech sale, and he used to joke that he deliberately made an effort to learn more just to spend time with me. But it’s not like that anymore, he’s more worried about his business nowadays.”

 _I suspect the only reason he pursued you was because of the tech._ Bond didn’t voice the thought alone, but his face must have said it all because Q shrugged. “I asked that he hire me as one of his employees, just to make sure everything is on record somewhere, but, well, life happens and we all move on, I suppose. I’m still getting paid, so there’s that. Problem is I can’t exactly go looking for another job.”

“Do you still love him?” Bond asked without thinking, careful to remain still despite the mental cringe.

Q was silent for a moment. “I like to think that I am, and I’m trying. Is it my fault that I ask for more in our relationship than just sex whenever Jean feels like coming over?” he asked, frowning slightly. “I feel like that’s there all is to it lately, and I’m not entirely sure I want that.”

Bond shook his head. “Perhaps you should really consider calling it off at this point,” he said, carefully choosing the words that would hopefully weaken Q’s loyalty to Lefèvre. “From what I understand, honesty is the best between partners.

Q remained silent for a moment, looking down at the table. Bond heard a faint padding sound, and Q turned just in time for a brown-black-white blur to jump from the floor to a bookshelf to the sofa back and onto Q’s lap. Missy bumped her forehead against Q’s chin, and Bond winced sympathetically at the audible _clack_ of Q’s teeth connecting. She purred before curling up in her master’s lap, eyeing Bond warily as she settled her head between her paws.

Bond took a sip of water, aware that if he pushed too hard, he could chase Q away and lose his only (so far) connection to Lefèvre. He was about to take his first bite when Q blurted out, “Are you seeing someone?”

Bond lowered the fork before turning to Q. “No, but if I happened to find the right person, I wouldn’t mind seeing them again and again,” he said, holding eye contact with Q. “Sometimes we don’t click right away, sometimes we do,” he said. “But I would suggest doing what you think feels right. My offer still stands, and I know a company that could greatly use your technical expertise.”

“See, it’s all about what I can _do_ ,” Q said, flopping back against the couch in frustration, accidentally dislodging Missy in the process. “That’s not what I want from a relationship.”

“What do you want then?” Bond asked, watching Missy readjust herself and return to her perch.

“A connection,” Q said mournfully as he picked at his food.

Bond sipped his water, aware that he now had the lockpick and just had to use it correctly in breaking the two of them apart.

Yet he still hesitated— _can I really use Q like that?_

For a second, at least.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Where’s Bond? He was supposed to meet us here,” Eve said, sitting down.

“Posturing over there with that American, Alec’s with him,” Q said, scowling as he watched Alec refill both their shot glasses before sitting back down. James, oddly enough, hadn’t wanted Q nearby when he started the drinking contest several hours ago, despite the American having his own little group of five hovering nearby. Alec, for some reason beyond Q, was permitted near, still wearing his suit as was James since they’d both recently returned home. “The second James saw them, he and the American nearly came to blows but Alec suggested the drinking contest, so here we are,” Q said, leaning back in his chair as Eve peered at them. If he wasn’t mistaken, it seemed almost as though James was _talking_ to the American between glasses, but given the earlier anger, he would be surprised if they were.

“That American? He’s _cute_ ,” Eve said, grinning as she sipped her beer.

“He’s also taken, by the scruffy-haired kid over by the counter with his friend. The one with the moles,” Q said, nodding to the counter where two teens received their drinks. “I swear they’re not legal, even here…”

“Him? Oh, him I want to hold and squish,” Eve said, grinning as the two teens began making their way back to the drinking contest. One of them, Scruffy’s friend Q noted, noticed the two of them staring at them. He then tugged on Scruffy’s sleeve, whispering quickly before the two of them changed course and began walking over to Q and Eve. “Oh, yes, here they come, maybe they can enlighten us as to how James’s fragile ego was damaged this time…”

“Hey, um, are you guys with the two blonds over there?” Scruffy asked, gesturing to Alec and James.

“Yep,” Eve replied brightly as she gestured for them to sit down. “Yes, those blonds are our morons, James and Alec. Do you know what started this fuss between James and your person?”

“Dunno, Derek stepped in before I could say anything,” the friend said, the two of them sliding into the offered seats. “Scott,” he said, offering a hand.

“Eve. And this is Alex,” Eve said, accepting the hand as Q scowled. “Don’t mind him, he never usually approves of half the things that James gets into.”

“Derek’s like that when he catches us in the act. Except I think he fakes being grumpy half the time because he has to be the responsible one at home,” Scruffy said, grinning as he offered a hand. “Stiles Stilinski.”

“Are you two even legal?” Q asked, grunting when Eve elbowed him sharply in the gut. “Question still stands,” he said, accepting Stiles’s hand and shaking it.

“Yes,” Scott said almost too quickly for Q’s comfort, but Stiles shrugged.

“You mean to tell me you’ve never tried to sneak in somewhere with a false ID?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“He’s actually the one who gets his card checked rather frequently for his thirty-one years,” Eve said, grinning when Q growled at her. “But what did James say to you that prompted Derek to step in before you could reply?” she asked, leaning forward.

Q didn’t hear Scott’s reply; Stiles had accidentally knocked the saltshaker towards Q. “Sorry about that, didn’t see it there,” Stiles said before glancing back at Derek and James. “So where does he work? He’s kind of big for a businessman, and in the muscly way.”

“He works as a bodyguard, he just got home from a job and we haven’t seen each other in a month,” Q said, rubbing his temples as he glanced to see what James was doing now; the two men were almost finished with the bottle that Alec had provided. “We were _supposed_ to be having a group night out, but obviously, that didn’t happen.”

“And we should probably let him finish what he’s doing, it may be important,” Eve said, nodding deferentially once in Scott’s direction before rubbing Q’s back. “You and I can go somewhere else and leave the boys to it.”

“At this point, I’m trying to make sure they don’t get alcohol poisoning,” Q said, resisting the urge to pull out his mobile and call O’Reilly and make sure the MI6 doctor was available to make house calls that night—although Q wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to risk the man’s life, considering recent events. “And James probably won’t let me go without him, he got twitchy when I told him about those animal attacks near our flat,” Q added, glancing at Eve, who arched an eyebrow. “You probably didn’t hear about it because I didn’t think it was important, but some animal has been mauling homeless people night after night, the Yard is getting impatient while pest control is trying to hunt the creature down.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of why we’re-” Stiles began but flinched when Scott stepped on his foot. Before Q could question the slip, he turned back to the drinkers and asked, “Is that their seventh or eighth bottle?”

 _“Of vodka?_ ” Q snapped, searching Alec out and recognizing the label a second later. “Christ, those _idiots_ ,” he snarled, standing up before Eve could stop him. “Give me a moment to sort them out,” he said as he easily stepped out of Eve’s and Stiles’s reaches and marched across the bar to where Alec was getting close to the target.

The agent blinked when Q appeared in front of him. “Q, aren’t you supposed-”

“If you want to keep your job, you will put that bottle back, double-oh six,” Q ordered, lowering his voice on the title. It stopped Alec in his tracks, just as Q had intended, and Q quickly added, “And pay your tab while you’re at it.”

Alec glanced uneasily over Q’s head before he said, “But James-”

“Can be an utter _idiot_ when it comes down to it. No. I’ve been watching you all night, and that’s too much,” Q snapped, gesturing for Alec to turn around. “Do not make me suspend you from active duty for poisoning a fellow agent, you know I can do it.”

“But-”

“ _Now_.”

Alec hesitated, started to open his mouth again, and changed his mind before turning around and heading back to the counter. Q meanwhile turned back and approached James from behind, not bothering to be discreet. Before Derek could say anything—he looked up right as Q arrived—Q moved around James and said, “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but _eight bottles_?” he demanded, looking at James, who froze for a split second before relaxing again.

“Exaggeration, I’m sure. I wasn’t keeping track,” James said calmly, blue eyes flickering over as a panicked Stiles arrived with Scott and Eve in tow. “We were just talking, I knew what I was doing-”

“James, the last time you said you knew what you were doing, a building went up in flames,” Q said bluntly, ignoring Stiles’s squeak. “I worry about your health as it is, you don’t need to drink more to prove a point, you’ll only stress me out further and I will call O’Reilly to check you over.”

James was quiet for a moment, studying Q before he nodded. “Very well,” he said before turning to Derek, then Scott. “My decision still stands. If I catch you or any of your party near my home, I will have your heads,” he said calmly before rising to his feet, surprisingly steady for having been drinking a steady stream of vodka for the last few hours. He offered the car keys to Q, who pocketed them before turning with an open hand to Derek, startling both men present.

“Keys. I’m going to be the responsible one here and ensure that a non-intoxicated driver takes you home,” Q said calmly, glancing briefly at the group behind Derek.

“Give them to Lydia, I’m not entirely sure who has been drinking or not but I trust her not to crash the rental,” Derek merely replied, handing the keys over. He glanced at Stiles and said, “Don’t think I didn’t see you earlier.”

“What? It was only one or two drinks!” Stiles protested as Q tossed the keys to a strawberry-blond who had reached up with spread hands. The brunette next to her caught the keys as they nearly went off course before handing them over to the strawberry-blond.

“Your father will still have my head again if he finds out,” Derek warned as he stood up as well. Q frowned, glancing back at Alec before checking his watch; he was absolutely sure that the two men had been drinking for almost five hours since Q had arrived just after dinner with James, yet both moved as though unaffected.

His observation was promptly disproved a second later when James abruptly stumbled, catching and leaning heavily on Alec. “Head rush,” he said by way of explanation when Q began to reach for his mobile. “I’m _fine_ , Alex, let me just get home and crash to rest,” he said, smiling encouragingly as Alec began to lead him towards the front door.

“You’ll be all right?” Q asked, pausing by Lydia as he glanced back to find Derek leaning on Stiles. “Do you need directions anywhere?”

She shook her head. “I can manage,” she replied, stepping aside as the other teen reached over to help Stiles support Derek. “Allison can give me directions if I need it.”

“Does that mean she’s in shotgun?” the teen said, glancing over his shoulder.

“If I’m driving, then yes she is,” Lydia replied serenely as she and Allison left.

Q left as well, finding James and Alec waiting on the curbside. “I’m sorry for fussing, James, but you already push it when you’re out on the field and I feel like I shouldn’t have to worry as much when you’re home,” he said, meeting those familiar blue eyes.

“I know, and I’m sorry for making you worry,” James said before kissing him lightly. “Go get the car with Eve, and we’ll wait here.”

“Stay out of trouble,” Q said as he began to follow Eve.

“Always do,” James replied, smiling faintly.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Major Character Death

_Would you miss me if I was gone?_

It had been an attempt to rile Q up and break his over-the-comms stoicism— _backfired, won’t do it again, had to redirect the conversation_ —but never had Bond imagined that it would become a stark reality less than six hours later, when he exited the Vauxhall Tube station to cross the street towards MI6 headquarters. Six months mired in a conflict had tolled his strength, patience, and energy, and he wanted nothing more to have a quick debrief, kidnap Q, and head home where he refused to let Q leave the bed for anything except the necessities.

 _“The poison in the dart acted quickly as a paralysis, and would have numbed any pain. The best consolation I can offer is that he did not suffer,”_ O’Reilly had said, as Q stood stock still in the doorway to the morgue, having been called down to identify the body. Bond, still getting the hang of drifting instead of actually walking, had hovered over Q’s shoulder, and saw every little crack in the Quartermaster’s otherwise calm façade. Q had known, known that Bond was dead the moment he hit the pavement, when every tracker alert went off in Q-Branch.

_It’s one thing to know, but another to see it for real._

O’Reilly had excused himself then, and Q had silently stood there before stepping closer and rest his hands on Bond’s shoulders, quietly begging Bond to wake up, to stop fucking around— _And God, please don’t be dead, I won’t kill you once you admit that this is a trick, you bastard I’ll hang you if you don’t wake up and fess up_. Bond swallowed back the dull ache he didn’t think he’d feel, but it sat like a rock in his chest.

Ellen had dragged him out twenty minutes later when the pleas escalated to shouts, fighting him every step of the way. The staff took a few extra steps to make sure that Q couldn’t break into Medical and reach Bond’s body, and Bond lingered in Q’s room in Medical, watching as O’Reilly finally slipped him several strong sedatives to keep him from striking out at the nurses.

“We knew this would happen,” Bond murmured one night, sitting in his usual bedside chair as Q stared sightlessly at the ceiling. Almost a week had passed, and Q had yet to receive Bond’s will—he didn’t know it yet, but Bond had left him in charge of his affairs. “You can’t mourn forever, MI6 still needs you to keep working at full capacity. You moved on when your mother passed, you can certainly move on from me.”

“Was it my fault?” Q suddenly whispered, causing Bond to straighten in surprise and sudden hope. Q continued to stare at the ceiling before he whispered, “I should have kept a better eye on you, I should have seen that sniper before he struck. I should have, I don’t know why I didn’t.”

“You were doing your job, monitoring someone else,” Bond pointed out; he’d heard whispers in the hall, how Q was under performance review for missing the sniper. As it turned out, Q-Branch had lowered their guard because 005 needed emergency assistance, and Q had figured that Bond was capable of pulling himself out of whatever sticky situation he got into when returning home. “And you better not dwell on it, Alex, or I will haunt the _hell_ out of you until you realize that _it wasn’t your fault_.”

“I’m sorry James, I should have kept a better eye on you, fuck, this is my fault,” Q whispered before curling into a ball on his side, staring at Bond. Before Bond could speak— _can you see me?_ —Q let out a whimper before turning on his other side, curling into a tight ball.

The funeral was a surprisingly quiet affair, something Q took over once he’d regained his senses. Full honors with cremation and then letting the ashes loose over the sea, as it turned out. Eve had suggested a burial at Skyfall, but Q pointed out that Bond would most likely to come back to haunt him if he dared do such a thing— _he never liked it there_. Q now also wore the Walther that Bond had tried to bring back that day, barely hidden underneath his jacket as he stood stony-faced at the brief ceremony.

He only broke down once he returned to the flat that he lived alone in again.

“At least you still have the bloody cat,” Bond pointed out three months later, Missy watching him carefully as Q absently stroked her back, staring at the television, which was on mute. Q had carefully bottled up his emotions after the funeral, and for all appearances, he’d moved on. But Bond, and Eve and a few Q-Branch staff, knew better. Bond was there in the evenings when Q silently cried to sleep for the first two months, trying to soothe him when Eve couldn’t. Bond wasn’t quite ready to move on, not trusting Q to not do something stupid once he turned his back.

Q, as usual, didn’t answer. He never noticed Missy’s odd behavior, when she spat and hissed at Bond through those first few months, which luckily turned to careful observation, allowing Bond to move closer to Q. Even now, as he stood up from his old armchair and walked over to Q, he saw her green eyes track him and she even shifted in Q’s lap as Bond knelt in front of Q. Running a gentle hand against Q’s hair, aware that he would never feel the strands again and Q would not feel the pressure, he sighed and said, “Q, please, don’t.”

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” Q whispered, looking down at Missy. He did this often and without warning, as though a thought had occurred to him. As usual, she didn’t react, only continued to stare at Bond. Q absently scratched her head as he looked at the now-empty pantry, where Eve had packed away all of Bond’s possessions while Q couldn’t get to them while upset— _I was worried you’d break something and regret it later_ —before staring at the television.

Bond watched as Q frowned a moment later, and then looked down at Missy before looking back up, a strange mixture of confusion and hope on his face. “All right, Missy, I’m sorry about this,” Bond said before looking down at Missy and then reached for her scruff.

With a loud yowling screech, Missy shot off Q’s lap the second Bond’s hand came in contact with her fur. Q jumped backwards, nearly falling over the back of the couch as she shot for the bookshelf. Scrabbling for his glasses, Q turned around to see a puffed-up Missy hissing and spitting in Bond’s direction, her stance shifting as Bond moved back to his chair and sat down. Q stared at her for a few moments before turning to the chair. “J-James?” he whispered disbelievingly as he looked back at her for a few seconds. “ _James?”_ he repeated, voice breaking on the word as he turned back to the armchair as he slowly stood up and walked wobbily to the chair, reaching as though to grasp something tangible.

Bond reached out anyway and gently wrapped his hand around Q’s. “How about we move on together then? I’ll follow your lead one more time, Q, just like we did when I was still alive and we were running missions together,” he suggested as Q swayed in place, staring between Missy and the chair.

Q instead knelt in front of the chair, and Bond could see him struggling to accept the possibility that Bond might actually be there. He finally rested a hand on the armrest, knuckles whitening as his grip tightened.

Bond rested his hand on top of Q’s, and the two remained there for the rest of the night.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_And to think it’s usually James who leaves London._

Snapping his suitcase closed, Q checked his watch and found that he still had thirty minutes before he was due to appear at the restaurant for the informal meet-and-greet with other foreign intelligence officials. He glanced outside the hotel window and stared out across the French countryside below him, a few vineyards in sight along with part of the city of Bordeaux, and wished, not for the first time, that James had managed to return home from his mission in time for Q’s departure. He could have come with Q as his security escort; he wouldn’t have minded the trip at all and Q wouldn’t have to be alone for another week.

_Just as well, he’d probably have to go to Medical to get patched up again._

Turning around, he gathered his mobile and keys before leaving the hotel room, tapping on the door of his security escort before heading towards the stairs. He glanced back in time to see the young field agent leave his hotel room and obediently follow Q at a discreet distance.

To his delight, he found a hotel bar that was already partly full of early evening patrons. Figuring he could get away with one quick drink before dinner, he approached the counter and sat down on a stool, his escort moving out of his sight— _probably getting to a discreet corner,_ he mused as he signaled the barman.

“Are you even legal?”

“Oh for Christ’s _sake_ , yes I _am—”_ Q began in exasperation as he turned to find whom he _thought_ was James at first glance, but stopped when he realized that the man may have the same blue eyes and voice as James, but had darker brown hair than his partner did. “I’m sorry, who are you?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as he leaned against the counter.

“I’m hurt Alex, I’ll pretend you didn’t just say that,” the man said, raising the familiar half-finished vodka martini that Q was used to seeing with James during their evenings out on the higher end of London.

“ _James? What did you do to your hair?_ ” Q whispered, eyes snapping back up to the hair before looking at James again.

“Disguise, needed it to infiltrate the boss’s operation since somehow, they knew I was blond,” James explained before he finished the rest of the martini. He then signaled the barman and gestured to his empty glass. “When R told me you were in the area, I thought I’d stop by and test your security escort.”

“You know that R warned him what would happen if something were to happen to me, correct? You’re a shocking motivator for my escorts to perform their best,” Q said, grinning as the barman placed the martini glass on the counter. He took it before James could and sipped from the glass.

“Well, maybe I should give them a test every now and then,” James said as he leaned in for a quick kiss. “How far do you think we can go before he catches up?”

“I have a meeting to go to in less than an hour, dinner affair,” Q said, arching an eyebrow. “And we’d have to tell R so that someone knows I’m safe and that you’re just being mean to the poor field agent.”

“How new is he to the job?” James asked as he gently tugged his drink back.

Q hesitated, and then said, “A little over the year, this is his fourth field mission.”

James grinned. “Perfect time for a test, wouldn’t you say? I’ll see you this evening then,” he said, kissing Q lightly before standing up. He nodded once, raising his glass before turning to disappear into the evening crowd.

Q sighed, and then stood up, figuring that if the wall clock was accurate, he only had fifteen minutes to navigate a foreign city to find a restaurant he’d never even heard of. His escort appeared seconds later, brow drawn in curiosity as he followed Q out of the hotel bar and towards the hotel valet service.

Q hesitated, aware he was going to feel guilty about this later, but then turned to the escort and said, “Do me a favor and don’t tell James about that meeting. He gets terribly jealous sometimes and I’d rather that he didn’t know about that man, I rarely get to see him as it is.”

The escort paled at the thought of getting the middle of (what he thought) was an inevitable argument between the Quartermaster and Double-O over fidelity, of all things, but he still nodded quietly.

Q silently decided to make it up to him later. For all the trouble he was about to endure.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Ready to go?”

Q nodded, nearly stumbling by accident onto the floor. He shook his head and stood up, dusting himself off as Bond steadied the table in their corner of the dining salon, where they’d just finished dinner that night. “Lost my balance, nothing major,” Q said, grinning softly as Bond offered him his coat. “Excellent choice in restaurant, by the way. Thank you for taking me here this evening,” he said as he pulled his coat on, allowing Bond to slip an arm around his waist.

“Thank you for your company this evening,” Bond replied, grinning when Q flushed pink. “Maybe we should consider doing it again.”

Q raised an eyebrow as they left the building, Bond nodding once to the maître d’ before guiding Q through the car park where he’d parked the car. Right as Bond was about to curse himself for being _too_ eager for a second date, Q nodded. “Perhaps if we have another free moment from work, I could always send a mass anonymous email to potential terrorists and ask them to keep their shenanigans to themselves for this specified day, and then go out before the date since you know they’ll _all_ cause pandemonium on that one day just to spite me,” he said, breath coming out in white puffs in the November air around the two of them as Bond unlocked the car and he slid into the passenger seat.

“How would you get in touch with them in the first place?” Bond asked as he started the car and started driving towards Q’s flat.

“Email. Somehow, whether by themselves, or through family, or minions, they’ve got to eat somehow and acquire other necessities. You can look at credit histories close enough to establish a pattern of supplies, and line it up with a terrorist’s activities. It’s difficult, though, and extremely time consuming, which is why I’ve never mentioned that particular method to M,” Q explained, grimacing as he retreated further into the coat. “I only use it if we’ve been having shit luck locating them for over a month or we’re on a tight schedule.”

“Remind me not to ever get on your bad side,” Bond said, glancing at the younger man, who smirked into his collar. “Nothing truly is safe from you.”

“Except those whom I choose to protect,” Q replied, not looking at James as they pulled into the driveway. He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned back, resting his hands in his lap for a few quiet moments. “This is it, isn’t it?” he finally said, glancing at Bond.

Bond nodded, starting to lean over to kiss Q only before he stopped; he didn’t want to scare Q off so soon with his forwardness. Unsure if he really saw Q’s shoulders slump slightly, he looked straight ahead and said in as steady of a tone as he could manage, “Yes, I suppose this is it.”

Q nodded. “I’ll see you in work tomorrow then, Bond. Thank you again, for the wonderful evening,” he said, starting to open his door.

“James,” Bond corrected, reaching to turn the keys.

Q hesitated, hand lingering on the door handle, before he said, “Good night.”

“Good night, Q,” Bond said, leaning back in his seat as he watched Q climb out and close the door behind him.

Unable to suppress the curl of disappointment in his gut—he and Q _had_ agreed to only dinner that evening, but he would have liked to continue their conversation from dinner—Bond sighed and reached to put the car into reverse. He looked over his shoulder as he slowly backed into the street.

He looked up for a split second, out of habit, to find Q standing near the main doors, looking oddly uncertain at the car. Bond frowned, and mouthed, ‘ _Are you all right?’_ when he and Q made eye contact. He wasn’t entirely sure if Q saw him or not, but evidently the quartermaster had when he held up a hand as though to signal Bond to wait, but then lowered it again, as though uncertain of his next move.

 _You’re putting context where there isn’t any_ , Bond reminded himself as he started to move the car again, only to stop when Q abruptly moved from the front doors, running across the path towards the driveway and down to where Bond idled. Bond calmly lowered his window when Q arrived, panting. “Is everything all right?” he asked, glancing around for a potential threat.

“Yes—I mean no. No as in there’s no threat, but there’s something else I’d like…wouldyouliketocomeupandhavesomethingtodrinkwithmeplease?” Q said, the last sentence coming out so fast that Bond blinked, nearly missing it. As it was, it took him a few minutes to realize what Q was saying.

Then he said, “Of course, Q, I’d love to come up for something to drink. I just need to park the car first.”

Q nodded. “Look for slot 46, that one’s mine and I never usually use it,” he said, grinning even as he twisted the hem of his dress jacket. “I’ll meet you at the front door.”

Bond nodded and began to pull back into the car park, his chest lightening considerably.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

Q was halfway through his book when he felt a poke to the ribs.

“James, this is the first down time I’ve gotten in almost a month. Let me read in peace,” he said without looking away, instead reaching around to readjust the pillow he’d placed on James’s chest before settling down again. He smiled slightly when he heard a faint grumble and felt James shift underneath him, but luckily, the agent settled down on the sofa again, instead turning his attention back to the television. Q stifled a yawn, stretching slightly as he maneuvered himself into a more comfortable position again.

Then he felt James poke the other rib.

 _Don’t encourage him_ , Q reminded himself as he stubbornly stared at the text, feeling a twinge of satisfaction when he noisily turned the page.

 _Poke_.

Slowly exhaling to remain calm, he said, “I do hope you’re not poking me with your trigger finger, I’d hate to have to explain to M why you lost that in a mysterious accident.”

A soft laugh vibrated through James’s chest and against Q’s back before James shifted down, sliding so that his mouth was near Q’s ear. “Not exactly a mystery if you warn me ahead of time,” he whispered before gently tugging Q’s ear with his teeth. “And I use my fingers for more than shooting, you’d miss them,” he murmured, and Q’s breath caught when he felt James’s hand rest near the waistband of his trousers.

“Well, now I don’t. And knock it off, I want to read,” Q said, swatting away James’s other hand hovering near his rib cage. After a moment’s thought, he pushed off the hand on his hip, not quite trusting James to not start something.

 _Poke_.

Q had to breathe in and out for a few moments. _Killing him isn’t going to help anyone,_ he reminded himself as he focused on his book. The next poke earned James a smack to the hand with the book, and Q momentarily regretted not having a hardcover within reach. “No poking, James,” he said firmly, relaxing when he heard James sigh and withdraw his hands.

He let out a muffled squeal when James abruptly _tickled_ his sides, letting out a few aborted whimpers before he elbowed James in the gut, earning a grunt from the agent. Turning around so that they lay face-to-face, Q scooted forward so that he was nearly touching noses. “Knock. It. Off. This is my first day off in _weeks_ , and I would like to spend part of it reading,” he growled, scowling when he saw that James looked nowhere near repentant. “No poking or no tickling. _Promise me_.”

“I promise,” James replied solemnly, mischievous blue eyes watching Q carefully.

Q nodded before turning back to his original position of lying down on top of James, finally content to read his book in peace.

He was perhaps halfway through the next chapter when suddenly he felt a light, feathery sensation trailing down his neck.

 _“James! What the fuck did I just say about no tickling?_ ” he shouted, reflexively curling his shoulder into his neck to scratch the tingling sensation away. James used those few, precious seconds to impress him by wiggling out completely from underneath him too fast for him to catch. He twisted around as James took a few steps away from the sofa, still grinning even as Q sat up. “I just said no tickling and _you promised!”_

“I was _kissing_ , which you never said I couldn’t do,” James said, grinning even as Q clambered over the armrest after him.

“Get back here, you little—”

He ended up chasing James through the flat, the agent somehow slipping out of rooms whenever Q was convinced he’d finally cornered him. Missy ran out of the line of fire by ducking underneath a bookcase and hiding there as Q ran after James, the latter heading straight for the bedroom that the two occasionally shared. Q cheated, feinting a lunge for the right and creating a fake opening for James’s escape, and quickly changed direction right as the agent fell for it. He caught James off guard and managed to shove him backwards towards the bed, letting out a yelp when James caught his collar on the way down and dragged him down with him.

A quick turn on the duvet, and Q found himself pinned and looking up at a triumphant agent. “Thought you won, didn’t you?” James whispered as he ran his hands gently down Q’s torso, pupils slightly blown as Q pulled him down for a deep kiss.

Q casually wrapped his arms around James’s neck, gently guiding the agent towards his neck before rolling his hips and taking advantage of James’s distraction to flip the two of them over again. He had to slide a little, to reach the floor and balance the two of them. He leaned forward to nuzzle James before whispering, “Actually, I _know_ I won.”

He cut James’s groan off with another kiss.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_I’m free._

Bond tried to control his walk out of M’s office, to show the irate director that he was not as relieved to escape as he actually was, but if Eve’s smirk was anything to go by as he passed her desk, he’d either failed and now M was about to lose his temper again or was too angry to notice it and Eve just caught on. It wasn’t until he was out of sight of both offices that he finally relaxed, allowing his shoulders to droop slightly as he began making his way towards the main entrance. He’d carefully timed his return— _check in with Medical, debrief with M, and return equipment later—_ so that he finished around lunchtime and could escape headquarters altogether and surprise his partner by stalking him when Q went to his usual café for a quick sandwich and something to drink.

 The café was noisy as usual, and Bond slipped inside while carefully keeping to the walls. He could see numerous MI6 personnel mingling with civilians in the crowd, the line growing as three Treasury staff argued with the cashier.

 _But where is Q? He’s usually here by now_.

Frowning, Bond slowly sat down in an unoccupied table as he carefully studied each person in line, blue eyes lingering over a few individuals before he made a short huff of frustration, unable to find the familiar messy hair and glasses anywhere.

“Saving us a table, then?”

He flinched at the unexpected voice, and raised an eyebrow at the man standing in front of him. Not quite Q; the newcomer wore a suit, the black hair lay flat, and he didn’t wear glasses. “No, waiting for my partner,” he replied calmly but kept a firm edge in his voice to dissuade the stranger from sitting down.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Bond, I’ve had a _hell_ of a day, and not in the mood to play games,” he snapped, hunching his shoulders forward as he narrowed his eyes in an all-too familiar gesture. “I suspect it’s also about to get _worse_ , since you’re back and that means I have to once again requisition the goddamn equipment that you—”

“ _Q?_ ” Bond blurted out, staring at his partner.

Q let out a sigh, shoulders slumping. “Of course you’d catch on once I started lecturing you,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he sat down across from Bond. “I’ve had meetings with the Ministry of Defence and the PM himself all morning, not to mention the mandatory budget meetings and I feel like just going home after lunch but I still have to process your equipment—”

“What happened to your glasses?” Bond asked, leaning forward as he studied Q’s eyes; he didn’t have much opportunity or time (or light) to study Q’s eyes at his leisure, and he noted the different colors in Q’s eyes with a silent fascination.

Q turned slightly pink. “Remember how you left them on the bookshelf so that we could, um, carry on with more important things the night before you left?” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

“Yes, what about it?”

“Well, I forgot that they were there, you left in such a rush and I wanted to say goodbye. So I had to use contacts for a week until Missy accidentally knocked them to the ground and mauled them, thinking they were a new cat toy,” Q said, leaning back in his chair. “Lenses are all scratched up now.”

“Contacts, hm? I like it, your expressions are easier to read,” Bond said, reaching over to brush gentle fingers against Q’s temple before leaning forward. Lowering his voice, he whispered, “I think you should keep the look, just a little longer. At least until tonight.”

Q flushed scarlet at the implication, but still smiled.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_I can’t afford to get sick, I’ll hunt down the party responsible if I do._

Q’s jaw ached from the effort to keep from his teeth from chattering; he was wet, cold and still somewhat sleepy as he stood on the rain-slicked road with his other neighbors, some of whom were muttering to themselves about the cause behind the fire alarm going off at four in the morning. His hands ached from trying to hold Missy still against his shoulder, a warm weight against his chest that constantly squirmed in an effort to break free. He glanced briefly to his left, where he knew that 004 was standing nearby; she was one of three Double-Os living in the building, ostensibly for his protection. She moved closer to him as the tenants all moved to the side to allow the firemen through.

_Rraow!_

“Missy!” Q shouted as the cat clawed her way free and jumped off his shoulder. He started to follow, but 004 caught his arm before he could get far. “Let me go, I have to get her back!” he snapped, but 004 pulled him closer.

“Trevelyan just caught her,” she said, nodding to two figures that Q hadn’t seen earlier; Alec and James were returning from whatever excursion they’d just been on (and Q expected the paperwork aftermath would be sitting on his desk in the morning), and both were bundled up against the cold. Alec easily caught Missy around the middle, ignoring the hissing as he hoisted her up and pinned her against his body like Q had been doing a few minutes before. James, on the other hand, spotted Q and blinked in surprise.

“Didn’t know you lived here,” he said as he and Alec joined Q and 004.

“Yes, well, it’s not something I like to make public,” Q said irritably as he reached for Missy. “Let me take her back.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to hold onto her? I’ve got a better grip than you do,” Alec said, hands tightening briefly as Missy struggled in his grip with her tail puffed.

Q narrowed his eyes for a moment, silently mourning the loss of his pet and only heat source. “Hurt her, and I’ll hurt you,” he warned after a moment before unconsciously rubbing his arms. _I shouldn’t have worn a T-shirt, it’s just that I was indoors where it was nice and warm. At least I grabbed a pair of trousers on my way out._

He nearly jumped when he felt something heavy drape around his shoulders. “You’re making me cold just looking at you,” James quietly said as he tucked the coat around Q’s folded arms and buttoned the first few.

“Won’t you need it?” Q asked, frowning as he glanced over.

James shrugged; he still wore a jumper. “I’m used to being in these temperatures with insufficient clothing and good company,” he said, winking in Q’s direction.

Q scowled even as he felt his face burn slightly. “Is that what you and Trevelyan were doing just now?” he asked, stiffening slightly to cover the slight sting of hurt.

James shook his head. “We were actually drinking, and lost track of time,” he said, standing a little closer to Q.  “He was going to show me something in his flat, and I was going to crash on his couch, but we may need to go to my flat now.” He looked down at Q thoughtfully, and asked, “Want to join us? Just to sleep, I won’t do anything that isn’t wanted,” he said after a moment, evidently catching the flash of panic in Q’s eyes.

“I know, but—”

“Even I have boundaries, Q, when I’m off-duty,” James quietly interrupted, unperturbed to the direction of Q’s line of thought. He reached out and gently pulled Q a little closer. “You’re still cold though, and if we all head to my flat, you can at least warm up a little. I have room for everyone.”

“Even me?” 004 asked, arching an eyebrow as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“You’d invite yourself over anyway, so come on,” Alec said, grinning as he nodded for 004 to follow them. “Take away and a movie, I can work with this,” he said, scratching Missy behind her ears until she growled.

“She doesn’t like strangers,” Q said, blinking as he allowed James to pull him close. He vaguely registered getting into the backseat of a car, the newfound warmth still at his side.  “Here, let me hold her,” he said, grunting when he received an unexpected pile of warm, meowing fur.

All he remembered after that was snuggling against the person next to him with Missy on his lap before drifting back to sleep.

* * *

Q jolted awake when he felt the car stop.

“Mm, are we there now?” he asked sleepily as Missy mewed in protest. He grunted when he felt the person next to him—James, he realized—gently prop him up from where he’d been lying down in the backseat. Hoping his scarlet face was carefully hidden in the darkness, where James couldn’t see, he abruptly sat up, accidentally dislodging Missy. “For that matter, where are we?”

“My place, I think with three double-ohs and that furball, you’re all set in terms of security,” James said, a note of wry amusement audible in his tone as he opened his door and slipped out, the cold nighttime air promptly invading Q’s space. James moved just as a white blurred streak made a dash for the door, and Missy _yowled_ when he caught and picked her up by the scruff.

“Hold her bottom, Christ, she doesn’t like being carried like that,” Q snapped, hurriedly unbuckling himself to scoot out of the backseat and stand in the small car park of an upscale building. He carefully cradled Missy before taking her from James, shushing the soft mewls as he tucked her inside the oversized jacket.

“If I didn’t see you treat your cat as nicely just now, I wouldn’t have believed it capable that you can love something other than your job and equipment,” James remarked as he locked the car and the four of them began walking to the building.

Q glanced at him with an innocent half-smile. “James, you’d be surprised at what I’m capable of when I have the…inclination,” he said, absently stroking Missy’s back languorously while he was careful to keep his hand in view. He didn’t miss the way James carefully studied him before he added, “But right now, I’m fighting to stay awake, so I may have to bow out of the party tonight.”

“Well, we’ll probably have leftover pizza in the morning, I ordered four,” Alec said, tucking his mobile away. “And I can rattle off James’s DVD collection, I think I have it memorized by now.”

“Actually, you don’t. I bought five more the other day and interspersed them, good luck finding them,” James said, grinning when Alec swore. He glanced at Q and said, “I can set you up in one of the guest rooms, Scarlett, you can have the other.”

“Will do,” 004 replied, stifling a yawn. “Any movies with good explosions? I actually want to stay up for the pizza but I might nod off if I don’t have loud noise.”

“I can find a film like that, but no guarantees to the quality,” Alec warned as they entered the building, heading straight to the lifts. “And remember to keep it down, James has this creepy neighbor who has the _sharpest_ hearing and if she thinks either of us is having or about to have sex or some noisy activity, she’s at the door knocking.”

Q shuddered as he carefully pulled his coat over Missy’s head, spotting the security officer at the desk as the lift doors closed. “I have two agents as my neighbors, I doubt I sneeze without them noticing,” he said, casting a nervous glance at 004, who shook her head.

“No, you’re fairly quiet, sometimes to the point where Martin gets worried over whether you’re actually there,” she replied, quirking a small smile in Q’s direction.

Q nodded, painfully aware that his ears were only reddening further.

Alec’s mobile rang as soon as they stepped off, and he muttered something about the pizza before leaving. 004 sighed, and said, “I’ll come with you, I don’t trust you with four pizzas.” Turning on a heel, she said, “James, try not to incur damage or wrath in the ten minutes you’re gone.”

“Will do.”

Q waited until the two of them were gone before he said, “I don’t want to put you out, I don’t mind getting a cab back home and waiting until it’s clear.”

“Don’t worry about it. Scarlett will take the other room, and Alec and I will fight for the sofa. There’s an air mattress under the sofa that I use for emergencies, we usually are used to having enough sleeping room for several more people in case we need to house agents,” James said as he unlocked his door and ushered Q inside.

The flat was slightly messier than Q would have guessed for a former Navy officer, but he suspected Alec’s influence more than anything. Odd even then, given Alec had also served in the Navy alongside James. He let Missy jump to the ground before she clawed his T-shirt off, and blinked when he saw James gathering a set of towels. “For me?” he asked without thinking, watching Missy disappear underneath the sofa, the tip of her tail barely visible. _I hope no one accidentally sits on her; that will be embarrassing,_ he thought, looking up when he heard James’s footsteps.

“Just wash off in warm water, and I’ll leave a spare set of clothes on the bed. The room you’re staying in is just down the hall, and the shower is to the door on the left closest to the bedroom,” James said, pressing the towels into Q’s hands. He smiled before nudging Q towards the room in question. “We’ll keep the noise down.”

“I’ll have to leave the door open a crack, Missy may come in during the night,” Q said before turning to leave. He paused, and then said, “James?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you, for letting Missy and me stay here tonight,” he said, smiling when he caught James’s eye. Was it his imagination, or did James have a foreign yet fond expression?

“Any time, and I mean that, Q,” James said calmly. “Don’t worry about putting me out or anything, and if you need something, just let me know.”

Q nodded. “Thank you, and good ngiht,” he said before heading down the hall and into the room. He set the towels down and glanced around the room, taking in the crisp lines of the furniture and bedding, realizing a second later that a Walther (didn’t James say he lost that one??) sat on the bedside table.

_Wait, am I in *his* bedroom??_


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“ _James! Get your hands out of there!”_

Bond was laughing too much to protest Q shoving him away, the quartermaster zipping his oversized coat back up and burrowing underneath the fabric. “So cruel and heartless, leaving your poor lover out in the cold where he could catch cold and be confined to bed for _days_ ,” he teased as Q flipped him off before digging his hands back into thick pockets. “And to think that’s only if he’s lucky, what _would_ you do without me, my dear Q?” Bond asked, the snow crunching underneath his feet as he walked backwards to watch as his partner scowled.

“Have a nice walk in the park in the middle of January without interference?” Q asked before sticking his tongue out at Bond. “All kidding aside, your gloves are in your pockets, there’s no need to stick icy hands not only underneath my coat, but also underneath my shirt. Especially without warning, and in public,” he said, grinning as Bond returned to loop an arm through Q’s elbow. “I don’t want to explain to Mycroft why I got arrested for public indecency.”

“Public indecency would be if I put my hands somewhere below your waist,” Bond said, keeping his voice down as he glanced at the few other people in the park. Some were playing with their dogs, and he briefly wondered if Q would be amendable to having dogs in their flat, namely the two retrievers that still resided at Skyfall.

“Yes, well, I’m not the one who is the mobile space heater, so _you_ shouldn’t have cold hands,” Q said as Bond felt an unexpected vibration in the depths of the coat. “Hang on, that could be important,” Q said, pulling gently away to fish around in his pockets before locating the mobile on its last ring. “Hello?” he said, stopping as Bond continued walking. Bond only paused when he heard Q say, “Oh, I’m sorry, you must have the wrong number…good bye.”

“Nothing then?” he said, pausing to glance back.

Q shrugged. “Wrong number, person was asking for the Yard. I think Sherlock switched my number with Detective Lestrade’s again out of spite, he did that one year when he discovered Mycroft and Lestrade were together and no one thought to tell him,” he said as Bond turned to keep walking. “That made for a few awkward conversations, as Lestrade didn’t know about me yet.”

Bond merely hummed in agreement.

Without warning, he heard the _fwwwip_ right as his foot shot out from underneath him, his world wobbling and tilting before vanishing altogether as he landed with a _crunch_ face-first into the snowbank on the side of the path. He remained absolutely still, taking quick stock of his aching knee, sore arms, and numb face.

“James!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, fucking ice,” he grunted, forcing himself to roll over so that he lay on his back, staring at Q’s gaping expression as Q leaned over him, eyes darting all over his face before he relaxed infinitesimally. “Just give me a few minutes to recover, I need to catch my breath,” he said, eyes narrowing as Q bit his lip before using a hand to cover his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“Um… um, nothing at all,” Q said, trying and failing to keep from smiling. “It’s just, well, you kind of wiped out—”

“No fucking kidding, I was there,” Bond growled as Q started grinning. “What’s so _funny_ , dare I ask?”

“It’s just…it wasn’t a very graceful fall as one would expect from Her Majesty’s finest, given the sorts of reaction speeds you have to deal with on missions. You kind of just _flailed_ ,” Q said, coming closer, not bothering to hide his grin as he bit his lower lip. “Here let me help you up, given that your old man bones can’t handle getting up off the snow,” he said, bursting into laughter when Bond took a swipe at him. “Oh God, I need to find the CCTV footage, I never thought I would see the day that the great double-oh seven was vanquished so _quickly_.”

“I will find that footage first, your staff members are free targets,” Bond warned, unable to hold much vitriol in his tone as he held out a hand. “Shut up and help me up,” he said, waggling his fingers to get Q’s attention.

“Right, right, sorry.”

As soon as Bond’s fingers touched Q’s gloves, Bond reached farther up and grasped Q’s wrist, pulling him down. Q squawked in alarm but yelped when Bond caught him right before impact, moving him so that he landed directly on top of Bond. _“Oof!_ ”

“Gotcha,” Bond whispered before Q tilted his head up for a kiss. He held Q tightly for a few minutes, running his hand up and down Q’s covered back as Q nipped his lower lip for little kisses. “Q?” he murmured once he could catch his breath and speak.

“Mm?”

“We should get up, I’m getting cold.”

Q grinned as he rested his forehead on Bond’s own. “I know a _fantastic_ way to warm up when we get back to the flat,” he said, fiddling with Bond’s jacket zip. “And we wouldn’t have to worry about ice or public indecency, have a nice fire going, and no one to bother us with calling the wrong number.”

Bond arched an eyebrow, smirked, and then easily rolled Q off of himself, smirking when he heard Q’s squeal at being deposited in the snow. “Come on, I have weak self control when I want to warm up,” he said, grinning as he pulled Q to his feet.

“I think the better question is _when_ is your self control ever _not_ weak?” Q grumbled as he followed Bond. “Definitely not when you’re running on adrenaline, I can testify to that.”

“Oddly enough, I didn’t hear any complaints last night about my adrenaline.”

“ _James!_ ”


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“One day, James Bond, I am going to _strangle_ you.”

“Well then, that makes two of us,” James snapped, the table being the only thing keeping him from lunging for Q.  The rigid cast and sling on his broken arm may have impeded the agent’s full range of movement, but Q knew better than to put full faith in the medical trappings to keep James from attacking. Especially since James hadn’t returned his Walther yet, and was proficient with the gun with either hand, as he’d once demonstrated when the two were on friendlier terms earlier that week. As Q turned around to ignore the agent, James snapped, “Just because you’re cozy and _safe_ behind your bloody desk and computers _does not give you the authority to shred me for taking the initiative with the circumstances I’m given!_ ” His voice echoed around Q-Branch, effectively silencing the soft murmur of conversations for about a few seconds.

“Initiative, my arse,” Q muttered under his breath as he pulled out an empty bin from the bottom shelf, silently deciding to give a small monetary bonus to the few Q-Branch employees who were at least putting in effort at pretending they weren’t eavesdropping on the latest row. “Well, look at what your ‘initiative’ cost you. Broken arm, second-degree burns, ankle sprain, and two months off-duty for recuperation,” he snapped, setting the bin on the table. “If you had just _listened_ to me, and gone right instead of left, we wouldn’t be discussing this!”

“Does it look like I give a _fuck_ about what you say?” James snapped, squaring his shoulders as he leaned forward over the table slightly. “I’ve been working here longer than you ever have, I think I know what I’m doing better than you. _You’re not on the fucking field!”_

“You can’t see _everything_ , damn it. I saw the reinforcements around that last corner, and if you had listened to me telling you to turn back around, _you wouldn’t be this injured!_ ” Q nearly shouted, temper wearing thin as James rolled his eyes. “For the love of God, don’t ignore me next time and this won’t happen again! I’m only trying to help you _survive!_ ”

“Don’t. It’s distracting to have you nattering in my ear constantly. Major Boothroyd _never_ did that, only came out onto the field when it was absolutely necessary,” James said coldly. “I managed six years without him misleading me. If you’re as good as you _claim_ to be, you can do the same,” he said in a soft, warning voice that caused Q (along with the two nearest techs) to take a step or two back.

Silence. Q carefully kept his mask in place, reaching for his laptop without looking. “Apologies, double-oh seven,” he said, keeping his voice steady as he opened the lid and pulled up James’s profile. “Thank you, then, for clarifying that aspect of the mission performance. I’ll make a note of it on the records, so I don’t make the mistake again. I’ll also include video footage of your request so that I can use it as evidence of your wishes _when_ M inevitably asks me why you managed to get yourself killed on your last mission,” Q said through slightly clenched teeth. “Don’t bother with the after-mission paperwork for this last run, I suspect I’ll never see it anyway.”

_I’ll probably hear you die, regardless. Just because you don’t want me to keep an eye on you doesn’t mean that I won’t worry, and I’ll fucking listen to make sure that you’re all right and will be coming back to harass my staff and make a great big bloody nuisance of yourself in my branch as you always do. I’ve gotten so used to having you in my life that I don’t think I’d ever kick you out. I don’t think I could. I won’t talk to you, so you won’t know I’m there, but I’ll be there whether you fucking like it or not so I can quietly save your sorry hide *when* you get into trouble._

Shaking his head, dispelling the thoughts, he watched as the changes in James’s profile saved themselves before he reached over the computer and gestured to the bin. “Am I assuming correctly that you have nothing to return?” he asked, voicing the question for form’s sake to conceal the deep sting that still twisted in his heart with each word. He looked up to find James staring at him strangely, more surprise than anger in those blue depths that Q usually avoided looking at in an attempt to keep his secrets, but saw when he was either exhausted or completely drunk and alone.

After a few seconds of silence, Q was debating whether to tease James or tell him to knock it off when Marcela cleared her throat nervously and said, “You, um, don’t remember saying that whole bit aloud, do you? About eavesdropping on his missions whether he likes it or not…” her voice trailed off as cold horror settled in Q’s chest.

“Ah, well, you know the procedure with returning to equipment, double-oh seven,” Q said, fighting to keep his composure as he frantically thought of an excuse that could get him out of the branch as politely fast as possible. “As it is, I should be getting up to O’Reilly’s office, he had questions about a proposed tracker,” he said, checking his watch before gesturing towards R. “R can assist you as needed.”

“Q—” James began slowly, broken out of his stupor as he shifted in his spot as though to pursue.

“O’Reilly’s just gotten out of a surgery and I need the proposals written soon, but can’t do that without his clearance,” Q said, ignoring the open stares from his staff and his own heated face as he backed towards the main doors. _Less than a meter, I can make a run for it in a moment._ “Good day, double-oh seven, and please be care—I mean, stay out— _just_ leave my staff alone,” Q said firmly, nodding once in James’s direction before turning on his heel and leaving the branch, quickening his pace as soon as the doors closed.

Instead of heading to Medical— _James will avoid the place like the plague, he won’t check on my story_ —he instead headed for the garage, figuring that James’s arm would keep him from driving (and following Q), and since the agent didn’t know where he lived, Q would head home and only return after dark to collect what papers and belongings he’d stupidly left behind. He had twenty-four hour access to the premises, unlike James’s, whose access was restricted to daytime hours unless an emergency demanded his presence in the building. His loyal staff would most likely keep their counsel, keeping James from getting into the security cameras.

_And I can hide like a coward for the next few hours in my flat. Lovely._

* * *

Halfway home, Q changed his mind and his destination.

The panic-filled haze slowly dissipated as he locked his car and crossed the street to Hyde Park, resisting the urge to burrow into his coat as he entered the park. Guilt and embarrassment lingered in his veins, leading him to wonder if perhaps he _should_ head back sooner, after all, to keep up the pretense of nothing being wrong. He could always explain that O’Reilly had delivered ill news about the trackers, and that he’d needed a few minutes to clear his head. If he was lucky, James would have already left Q-Branch by then, and Q would pretend that nothing happened the next time they spoke.

_But I’ll still follow his missions quietly. I’m not budging on that._

Texting R to pull up all of James’s mission files with Boothroyd so that he could study and emulate his mentor’s example, Q hadn’t realized how much he’d _cared_ up until that moment that James was safe, up until that point at least, and now he had compromised their working relationship. James, he suspected, would discard all and any devices to prevent tracking, which meant Q would have a hell of a headache trying to pin the agent long enough to get a new one in. Running a tired hand through his hair, he reminded himself that no one knew he was out there and could have a judgmental-free moment to panic.

_Get a fucking grip, you just said something stupid in front of a colleague. An admittedly lethal colleague, but it happens._

“Damn,” he muttered, jamming his hands into his jacket pockets, itching to return to the safe havens of MI6 headquarters, specifically his office where he could easily lock James out and get back to work. He gave James another ten minutes of harassing his staff before losing interest and wandering off, giving Q the opportunity to return to his work unmolested.

A looming shadow on the path before him was his only warning.

“You’re a surprisingly hard man to find,” James said conversationally as an iron hand clamped down on Q’s shoulder, earning a squeal of surprise. “Even when coercing your staff into telling me where you went off to.”

 _Thank God I did not go home._ “Let go of me,” Q snapped, attempting to jerk his shoulder free even as James pushed him backwards towards a nearby bench. “And how _dare_ you harass my staff like that, they did nothing—”

“I want to talk about what you—what _we_ said back in the branch,” James said, depositing Q onto the bench, easily moving to block Q’s path, even as Q tried to scoot on the bench to get in a better position for escape.

“There’s nothing to discuss unless you couldn’t _wait_ to share your latest excuse for whatever mission failure happened!” Q snapped, glossing over the fact that it had come from James’s ignoring of Q. And Q _could_ recover from that fallout, if James would leave him alone long enough. He stood up, physically pushing James away. _Pretend like the embarrassing conversation never happened_. “Please go away, I still have to figure out what the hell to do with the latest report with O’Reilly and I couldn’t think in the confines of my office.”

“Liar, I talked to O’Reilly when two of your staff manhandled me to Medical after I injured my arm again,” James said, blocking Q again. “Slammed my fist into a table,” he said, frowning slightly when he saw Q’s perplexed expression. “But Q—”

“Double-oh— _Bond_ , there is nothing to discuss beyond the mission parameters, and you should not have abused your rank to get your way in my branch or in Medical,” Q said coolly, squaring his shoulders despite the fact that his face was warm now, the anger from earlier returning along with the embarrassment. “This will also be the last time I ‘natter’ at you, unless you cross boundaries again and bully _my_ staff in _my_ department,” he added quickly, face burning as he realized that he was once again lecturing the agent.

“Q—”

“James, there is nothing left to discuss,” Q repeated firmly before turning on his heel and walking away, holding himself close only when he thought James couldn’t see.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Where is Q?”

R offered what he clearly hoped was a sympathetic smile, but Bond still saw right through it, namely a faint smirk that made Bond’s hand twitch for his gun. “He’s out of town for now, double-oh seven,” R replied, smiling apologetically as he gestured for Bond to move around the counter and deposit what equipment he had left. “M recruited him for a series of ‘peace talks’ with MI5 in Cardiff over the last few days, since he’s the least likely one to lose his temper and fuck things up between the two of us,” he said as Bond deposited the radio, earpiece and coiled cable lines onto the table. “Gun and USB, please, double-oh seven,” R said, frowning when Bond didn’t immediately place the objects on the table.

Instead of replying, Bond pulled the gun out and turned it over as though inspecting for scratches. He switched the safety off when he was sure that R was paying attention, and then leaned forward. “Let me try this question again, _Riley_. Q seemed distant about a week before I left, never came onto the comms in the thirty days I’ve been gone, he’s _still_ gone when I return, and your poker face is absolute shit. _Where is Q?_ ” Bond growled, resting the gun in an almost-nonthreatening position.

R paled. “I—I honestly have no idea where he is,” he stammered, backing away slightly. “Honestly double-oh seven, please don’t point that gun when the safety is off, not in here and _especially_ not at me—”

“Yes, double-oh seven, I distinctly remember telling you that I don’t like you threatening my staff,” came a familiar voice from the entrance.

Bond glanced over to see Q pulling off his scarf and letting it hang loose before unbuttoning his coat. He frowned as he approached the two of them at his workstation, and then said, “Thank you for returning your equipment, you are dismissed for your briefing with M.”

Bond blinked. “What, no hello? No ‘welcome back’?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light despite being partially miffed at the lack of the greeting he’d gotten used to receiving from Q in the last three years they had been dating. Q ran a critical eye over the equipment as he slid his coat off, walking wordlessly past the equipment towards his office.  “Q?” He caught the quartermaster’s arm right as Q tried to slip past him. “Q, is something wrong? Did I do something?” he asked quietly, letting Q go as Q looked away.

He could have sworn Q’s shoulders sagged for a second. “No, everything’s all right, I need to get some work done first. Please,” he said, tacking on the request almost as an afterthought.

Bond glanced at R, who studiously stared at the screen in front of him. Several staff were watching the two of them now, but a few ducked as soon as they made eye contact. Swallowing back the questions— _what’s really going on, Q?_ —Bond instead leaned forward and gently kissed Q on the cheek, blinking when Q turned to kiss him back and held him there, hand curling in a sleeve before Q let him go. “Try not to drive M crazy,” he said, lowering his eyes as he spoke. He stepped away in clear dismissal and headed straight to his office, running both hands in his hair in silent frustration before closing his door

R cringed, and with one glance to Bond, abruptly followed Q and disappeared into the office.

No one made eye contact with Bond as he left the branch and wandered down to the firing range.

 _I’m not jealous, no, not jealous at all. Nothing’s happened, we’ve had our ups and downs, even stayed in separate flats for a month but we came back together. He knows I have to be gone for stretches at a time… maybe that’s what he can’t handle? I can’t help being gone for so long…_ a sharp exhale of frustration as he accepted a gun from one of the firing instructors… _did he move on while I was gone? Found someone else? Has he only been with me out of pity for so long?_ He stopped at the thought, not fully registering the instructor’s wary glance between him and the thoroughly shredded target. He still recalled R’s evasive behavior, unwilling to look at him when Q was in the room.

_That little…_

“Double-oh seven!” the instructor shouted as he abruptly turned and left the range with the gun in hand. Bond wordlessly turned the gun around and offered the handgrip to the instructor, who blinked at it for a few moments before taking it. “Where are you going? M is still waiting for you!” he shouted as Bond turned to leave again.

“Then he can keep waiting!” Bond snapped over his shoulder, heading straight back to Q-Branch.

The doors were locked, as he expected, so he sat in the hall in direct view of the security camera he knew Q had installed there. He slowly exhaled, forcing himself to remain patient and still even though he felt the burning desire to know when Q stopped loving him, when the past three years became a carefully constructed lie. He leaned his head against the wall, eyes fluttering closed as he waited.

“James?”

He jerked awake, but relaxed when he spotted Marcela leaning out of the main entrance. Other than Q, she was one of three techs that had the rare permission to address him by his first name. _Perhaps that’s why they sent her out,_ he mused as he raised an eyebrow in her direction.

“Um, Q will see you now. In his office. With no detours. He was very explicit about the ‘no detours’ thing,” she said as he stood up and walked over.

“Is R hiding?” he asked, unsurprised when she turned pink.

“In the labs, but that’s not the point,” she replied as he followed her into the branch, visibly emptier compared to earlier that day. She glanced at him nervously and said, “Um, he’s in there,” while gesturing to the office.

“Marcela, can you answer something for me? Honestly?” Bond asked, turning to her.

To his surprise, she quickly shook her head. “Sorry, ah, no, I can’t,” she said quickly before retreating. “This is between you two, do _not_ get me involved,” she said over her shoulder, only adding to Bond’s unease. When she saw that he hadn’t moved, she said, “Well? _Go on_.”

Wishing he still had a gun, he headed to Q’s office, surprised to find it unlocked. His frown only deepened when he walked in to find Q face-down on the table, which was covered in paper, with his hands curled into fists in his hair. Calmly, he closed the door and walked up to the desk, placing both hands on the table before he said, “Spit it out, right now. What the hell is going on?”

Q sighed before sitting back in his seat, tilting his head to look up at Bond. “Sit?” he offered, gesturing to an empty chair. When Bond shook his head, he let out a shaky sigh and turned back to staring at the screen. He said, “Fine. The reason,” he began slowly, took a deep breath, and then continued. “The reason why I couldn’t be with you on the comms was because I—”

“Q, if you’re going to break up with me, I advise against drawing it out,” Bond said, despite the dull ache in his chest. He frowned, unused to the sensation, but pushed ahead, saying, “I also don’t want to keep you longer than necessary.”

Q stared at him, evidently torn between confusion, suspicion, and anxiety. Then he frowned, and said “Who said anything about breaking up?”

Bond leaned forward and said, “Why else would you be avoiding me from even before I left on this last mission?”

Q slowly exhaled, already a good shade of white, and fiddled with the pen on his desk. Bond frowned when he realized that Q was trembling a little, resolutely staring at his screen. “Oh, _sod_ it,” he muttered under his breath as he finally stood up and opened his desk drawer. “Wanted to do this properly, but we all can’t plan this sort of thing,” he muttered, fiddling around in the drawer before pulling out a small object.

Bond narrowed his eyes, but backed up slightly as Q came around the desk and reached out to brace himself as he shakily knelt down on one knee. _No, no, no, you can’t be serious, Q, I won’t let you put yourself in more danger that way,_ he thought, watching as Q opened his mouth to speak, swallowed, and then said “James…”

“Q…” he began, almost as a warning despite the quiet wish.

“I’ve known you for three years now, and I can’t imagine you not being here anymore. When you’re gone, I expect that you’ll return. I expect that you’ll continue to break my things, to continue taking bloody risks, and to continue being _you_. I want you to stay,” Q said, voice steady despite still-trembling limbs, fumbling with the box for a moment to get it open. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment, Bond didn’t know what to say.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

A momentary slip in focus cost Q his footing, sending him sprawling on the wet concrete just meters from his building. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself back up, ignoring the sting of water against scraped hands as he jammed them into his trousers pockets and hobbled the last few steps towards his building. The late hour meant no cabs were available, and the downpour started about two minutes Q left the safety of the Tube station, instantly soaking him. He closed his eyes, reminding himself that he’d be back in the safety of his flat soon enough (without an agent though, James was somewhere in Russia or Scandinavia on radio silence) and wouldn’t have to brave the lumpy cot in his office another night.

_But I’d do it again. The agents rely on us to get them out of trouble, and if that means I have to sacrifice a few more hours of comfort, than so be it._

The night security guard nodded once in greeting, not batting an eye at the wet footprints Q left behind as he squished his way to the lift. Teeth chattering, he barely missed his button in an effort to hurry, fighting both his drooping eyelids and drenched cardigan as the lift moved. He stumbled down the hall once he stepped off, slowly thawing fingers dropping the key once or twice before he jammed it against the wood several times. With a faint snarl, he threw it against the door and stood there for a few more minutes, trying to summon the energy to pick it up of the floor.

He didn’t realize that he was swaying on his feet when the door abruptly opened and James stepped out, wordlessly draping one of the thick wool blankets over Q and wrapping it around him tightly. “Wanted to surprise you, but I think you should sleep first,” he said, gently rubbing Q’s back through the fabric before kneeling down to pick up the fallen key.

“When did you get back?” Q asked, stifling a yawn as James tugged him inside.

“Few hours ago. Let’s warm you up first and then bed,” James said, closing the door behind him.

Q scowled. “James, I’m happy you’re back—” he closed his eyes as James kissed him, and immediately reached around the other’s neck. “But I don’t know if I can stay awake long enough to—” he began, gently breaking the kiss.

“We don’t have to,” James murmured, nibbling Q’s ear regardless before retreating. “Drink this,” he said, setting Q down on the couch as he pushed a mug across the coffee table. “We’ll have to get you out of your clothes before you can catch cold.”

“No bath, I’m not awake enough for it,” Q said, closing his eyes as he smelled the soothing aroma of mint tea.

He didn’t hear if James agreed or not, but let the agent do as he please, prying the mug out of Q’s hands when Q finished before gently guiding him to the bedroom. James apparently had another stack of towels on hand, because as he pulled off each piece of wet clothing, he gently ran the fabric across the newly exposed skin while Q leaned against him, eyes closing as he listened to James’s steady heartbeat underneath the shirt. A moment’s hesitation, and he slowly exhaled as he tilted his head up to let James take his glasses off. When he started shivering, as soon as the last article of wet clothing was gone, James gently shushed him before helping him into his pajamas. Missy jumped onto the bed once James helped Q to lie down, and she curled up in the curve of Q’s body.

“I’ll tell M you’re out sick tomorrow, you can catch up on some sleep,” James murmured before kissing his brow and straightening.

“Thank you,” Q mumbled without looking, too content to open his eyes again. Then: “James?” Q whispered, twisting slightly to watch James leave.

“Hm?”

“I’m glad you’re back.”

He thought he saw a shadow of a smile. “So am I,” James said, as he knelt and picked up the wet clothes. “Go to sleep now.”

Q nodded, drifting off to sleep with a small smile.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

After the latest round of coughs, Bond remained still in bed.

He didn’t have to see Q to know that the other man was privately smirking at Bond for attempting to get out of bed for the nth time that day. “Q!” he tried to call only to dissolve into another coughing fit, a fever brought on by overexposure to Russian winter temperatures just the week before. _“And you’re bloody fortunate that all you’re getting is a fever and not a long stay in Medical, given how many people you had shooting at you,”_ Q had scolded as he patched up the few scrapes and abrasions that first day, when Bond woke up with a burning forehead and scratchy throat.

“Q!” he rasped again, staring balefully at the little bell that Q had jokingly left behind on the bedside table. “Q, you _know_ I can’t reach that fucking bell,” he growled under his breath before curling forward with another coughing fit, the pain stretching deep into his chest. He tried not to panic at the suffocating sensation of the bed sheets and duvet surrounding him.

“I’m coming, James, I’m coming,” he heard Q say from the other room. He only relaxed when Q did arrive with a tray of tea and a few medication bottles along with a flannel. Q sighed when he scanned Bond over, and then set the tray down before picking the flannel back up. “Any aches you want me to soothe?” he asked quietly as he knelt on the edge of the bed, dipping the flannel into a bowl of water before wringing it out.

Bond frowned, and even though he could think of a few aches that needed attention, he still shook his head. “I don’t want you getting sick because of me, M would use that as an excuse to finally get rid of me,” he said, the attempt at humor falling flat even in his own ears.

Q shook his head. “I’m still on the tail end of the sickness going around in the office, I’m hoping that it will provide some defense against whatever you have. Plus, if I get sick, then you can take care of _me_ ,” he said, grinning when Bond groaned. “Now, let me ask again. Do you want anything else before I go?” he asked quietly, smiling fondly as he rubbed the cold, wet flannel across Bond’s feverish skin, providing a sense of relief that prompted Bond to groan aloud. “It’s not time for your next dose of medications, but I can ask O’Reilly if we can bend the rules a little for another ibuprofen,” he offered.

“Just…small massage?” Bond asked, trying not to sound too hopeful and failing to hold his composure when Q grinned knowingly. “It _hurts_ , Q, and I get lonely while sitting here. I can’t even curl up when the coughing starts because it hurts to fucking _move_ ,” he growled even as Q put up two hands in faux surrender and moved onto the bed, carefully straddling Bond just above his waist.

Even though Bond could tell that Q was balancing his weight on his knees as he covered his hands with the prescribed ointment— _something to theoretically help me breathe easier—_ the quartermaster felt lighter than Bond expected. Instead of commenting on it though, he reached up and rested his hands on Q’s waist. “If you get sick after I recover, I’ll tell M that I’m on the verge of an imminent relapse,” he said, grinning as Q tilted his head up in time to stop his glasses from sliding right off. “And then I’ll kidnap you and we’ll go to the Mediterranean for a nice vacation, and you’ll be able to truthfully tell M that you were kidnapped.”

“I’d rather head somewhere north. After the whole fiasco with ten fucking attempts at a honeymoon in the span of one year, I’m rather done with the Mediterranean for a while,” Q said, scowling at the memory as comforting fingers worked the sore muscles, eliciting a groan from Bond.

The agent smiled as he tried to reach up and rub Q’s arm comfortingly, but found himself lacking the energy to do so. “At least we made new friends with the Italian mafia when we went to Sorrento that one time, with the nice villa,” he said, voice cracking before Q moved off him, Bond’s body moving with spasms from the force of the coughs a few seconds later.

“Yes, only because after they spent those two weeks of our vacation time trying to kill us because they thought we were trying to kidnap and ransom the boss’s son, when said son was actually too injured to escape because you shot his collar bone and spared his life,” Q replied, shaking his head when Bond gestured for him to get back on. “No, I’m done with the medicine, I need to go wash my hands and you should rest now,” he said, moving off the other side of the bed before Bond could reach for him.

“Please stay.” The request was out before he could stop himself, hand outreached for Q.

“Let me wash my hands, and I’ll be right back,” Q promised before turning to leave. “Do you want the tea?” he asked, gesturing to the cup.

Bond shook his head.

“All right, I’ll have it when I get back,” Q said, grinning before he left.

Bond was perhaps dozing, almost fully asleep when he felt Q return and gently sit on the edge of the bed as though contemplating the movement or not to avoid bothering Bond. As though to help him make a decision, Bond scooted back and curved slightly, creating a space for the other man.

He smiled to himself when he felt Q finally settle down beside him.


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Someone looks chipper this afternoon.”

“Fuck off,” Q growled, scowling when James pantomimed an injured expression before leaning on his workstation again. “I’ve had a hell of a morning ever since I missed the Tube and had to take a bus to another station to catch the train, which meant I had to sit next to a child who _couldn’t sit still to save his life_ ,” he snapped as he moved away from James, who had attempted to rest a casual hand on his hip. They weren’t keeping their relationship a secret, but Q didn’t want to flaunt it either.

James cleared his throat, trying to move closer again. “Yes, Q, about that child—”

“And I haven’t even started to review the paperwork needed for a meeting in thirty minutes, M is going to have a fit about that when I show up completely unprepared because I’ve fallen behind on the development of the tracker that is the _topic_ of said meeting, not to mention I still have to address O’Reilly’s concerns,” Q said, ducking as James tried to reach for him. “Will you knock it off?” he said, turning to his partner with a scowl.

“Q, M won’t be yelling at you about being unprepared,” James said, catching Q’s shoulder as Q tried to pull away, another rant building in his throat. “I think that child on the bus left you a souvenir that you’ve only aggravated during the day.”

Q stopped, staring at him. Then: “What?”

Very calmly, James reached around him and gently ran his fingers through the back of Q’s hair, holding Q close as he did. Q was about to pester him further when he felt James’s fingers abruptly stop on what felt like a knot. James tugged gently on the hair and looked down at Q. “If you think it feels bad, you should see how it looks. Someone got a nice wad of chewing gum there, and it looks like a patch of your hair in the back has been twisted into a massive knot. I think being unprepared is going to be the least of your worries.”

Q stared at him, a horrible sinking feeling in his gut. “No, don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, letting out a small yelp as he jerked free of James’s grip. “I’ll—I’ll deal with it myself, don’t you fucking dare cut it out,” he snarled as he backed away, James holding his hands up as though in surrender.

“Q, as you said yourself, there’s only thirty minutes until you have to go to your meeting. If you just let me take a look at it, I think we can cut it out and you won’t have to spend time washing your hair,” James said in a placating tone even as he signaled one of Q’s techs for a pair of scissors. “Someone or I can cut it out, and then we’ll just comb your hair over so that it isn’t obvious.”

Q shook his head even as he continued retreating…until he saw 004 casually leaning against the main entrance to Q-Branch. 002, who had wandered in earlier that day, was lounging on a bench near the emergency exit. Gritting his teeth, he turned to James and said, “Over my dead body you will.”

James sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Let’s not get to that point,” he said after a minute. “Come on Q, how many officials will be at this thing?”

Q stared at him before shaking his head. “No,” he whispered as his shoulders sagged, resting his head against James’s chest when the agent pulled him close. “James—no, please no, it will look bad…”

“Tell you what. You choose who cuts and who styles,” he said, handing the scissors over to Q. “It will grow back.” He leaned forward and murmured, “And after, when we get back home, I’ll take good care of you this evening. Pampering from the moment you walk into the door all the way until bed.”

Q sighed, glancing at the clock over James’s shoulder. He allowed James to hold him a little longer before he pressed the scissors into James’s hands. “Please don’t cut any more than necessary,” he said, letting out a long sigh.

He closed his eyes when he felt a soft kiss pressed against his forehead.

“Of course, let’s sit down, and we’ll have you ready for that meeting. After all, more money for you means more toys for me to destroy,” James said with a note of humor in his voice as he guided Q to the nearest chair.

“Well, at least you admit to that much.”


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Q, are you busy right now?”

“Yes I am,” Q said, making a face as Bond turned his office chair around and rested his hands on the armrests, caging Q in as he leaned down for a kiss. Q muttered something under his breath before reaching up to rest a hand on Bond’s neck, humming softly as Bond deepened the kiss. He let out a soft sigh when they parted, and he smiled before leaning back in his chair. “If you’re here looking for something to do, I think I could set you up with weapons testing in the firing range,” he offered, eyes fluttering closed as Bond ran his fingers though his dark hair.

“Mm, I was hoping for something a little more…vigorous,” Bond replied with a smirk before leaning forward again to drag his nose through Q’s hair. “Especially since you haven’t been home in days, Q, I’m going to start sleeping on the cot with you because it’s starting to get a little lonely at the flat when you’re still working here,” he murmured before turning his head, quietly submitting to Q’s gentle tug so that he could kiss his lover again.

“I’m almost done with the projects here, so I’ll come home tonight if everything works out well for some field tests we’re doing this afternoon, promise,” Q said as Bond rested his forehead against Q’s in order to catch his breath.

“Field tests? What kind of field tests?” he asked, frowning as he allowed Q to momentarily divert his attention.

“Newly outfitted car and some watercraft we’ve been working on. And no, you may not touch them yet—” Q began, eyes narrowing in warning when Bond raised an eyebrow.

“When you said you had something for me to do…”

“I most certainly did _not_ mean that, it’s general policy anyway to not let anyone near prototypes until we’ve all unanimously agreed to permit as much,” Q interrupted, scrunching his face when Bond leaned forward to gently kiss the furrowed lines away. “Ja—ames, what are you doing?” he asked, breath hitching when Bond tilted his head to begin kissing along his jaw towards the pulse point underneath.

“Can you take a few minutes off? As in up to thirty?” he murmured, catching a soft moan with his own lips, groaning when Q reached up and wrapped his hands around Bond’s neck, pulling him down for a deep kiss. “Forty?” he guessed before he grinned when Q tapped his nose with a finger.

“And to think I thought I was being generous, about to offer twenty. Hmm, maybe I should make that fifteen, taking five off for not bringing back my equipment?” Q teased, squeaking when Bond moved a hand to rest on his hip and rubbed near a sensitive spot. “All right, thirty, thirty, Tanner was just telling me I needed a break anyway. Then again, I think he was just trying to get his hands on the watercraft without me notic— _fuck,”_ he breathed when Bond let go of the armrests and kissed him deeply, hands reaching for the Q’s trouser buttons. Without thinking, Bond placed a knee and rested his weight on the edge of the rolling chair to brace himself.

 _Sqeee-_ “ _Shit!”_

“Fuck!” Bond swore even as he immediately caught Q, the chair shooting out from underneath and pitching the quartermaster forward onto the agent. Bond let out an involuntary _oof_ when Q’s full weight came down on his stomach, but he still reached out and shielded the side of Q’s head from the falling desk chair. For a moment, neither man spoke, but it took Bond a few seconds to catch his breath before checking Q over, gently running his hands down Q’s sides. “Are you all right?” he asked worriedly, ignoring the small headache blossoming from where his head had made contact with the floor.

“Yes, but very, very irritated now. All worked up and I just lost a few precious minutes, R will be coming soon for those field tests,” Q growled, propping himself up on Bond’s chest before checking his wrists. “And to think you didn’t want to spend three fucking seconds setting up the cot so we could do this properly,” he said, flexing his hips against Bond’s, earning a deep groan from the agent.

“We still have time,” Bond said, grinning despite himself. He saw Q’s lip twitch, and then the quartermaster bowed his head, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

“We are not doing that again. Not on the chair, we got lucky that we didn’t have to go to Medical,” Q said, resting his head on Bond’s chest. He tilted his head to face Bond, and said, “Twenty-five minutes left.”

“I’ll make up the lost time and then some tonight,” Bond murmured as he reached for the waistband of Q’s trousers.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_I need to ask you something important, meet in five? –JB_

“R, I need to step out for a moment, James needs something again,” Q said, setting his mobile aside even as another text came in with location details. Ignoring the looks exchanged between R and a few of his staff, he gathered his coat and keys before he said, “I’ll be right back, there shouldn’t be any crises between now and then since we don’t have any double-ohs out at the moment.” Looking at both R and Marcela, he said, “If M comes looking for me, just tell him I had to step out, James is hiding from him again and I’d rather not sell him out.”

“Of course, sir,” R said, glancing at Marcela before stepping back to let Q through.

Q found James at their usual back table at Caffé Italia almost ten minutes later, the agent looking to be in a better mood than Q anticipated. Technically friends, Q kept any personal feelings to himself, knowing that James Bond did not do commitments, and contented himself with what easygoing relationship they did have. Asking for more, as he’d learned in the past, usually ended badly all around and made things horribly awkward, so he’d learn to enjoy what he could get.

Curious now and grinning slightly at the flutter in his heart that he always experienced when seeing James in something other than a suit, Q smiled as he nodded once in greeting while he sat down, a mug of Earl Grey already sitting on the table next to James’s usual cup of coffee. “Dare I ask who died, will die, or what new toy you’ve discovered now?” he asked, taking a sip. “I did ask that you wait until I soothed over my poor neighbor and the landlord before doing something stupid at the flat again, and it hasn’t even been six months yet.”

“It’s not my fault your poor neighbor has high sensitivities, and that your landlord can’t handle a good prank,” James replied, taking a swallow of coffee. Then he shook his head and said, “Actually, I had something important to tell you, and I…” he hesitated, made a face, and then said, “I may need some advice, all in good confidence, since I’ve never had the chance to do this properly before.”

“Oh? What’s going on?” Q asked, feeling a chill run through his veins. _Is he sick? Injured? He did just come back from South Amer—oh God,_ he thought as James leaned around to the jacket hanging on the chair and fiddled around until he located an interior breast pocket and pulled out a small black box. He swallowed, partially uncertain, surprised, and pleased. “Is that…” he began slowly as James opened it.

“I want to propose to my partner, but have no idea how to go about it,” James said, pulling out a gold ring and keeping it in front of his body to prevent others from seeing it. “What do you think? Any particular way I should propose?” he asked, looking at Q, who still stared at the ring in surprise.

Q prided himself on his swift reaction. “Oh, um, hm. Well, I’m a little confused about why you’re coming to _me_ about proposals, given I have never been in that situation myself,” he said, feigning a smile even as his world came to a halt, deep disappointment and embarrassment filling his chest as he leaned forward to study the ring. “I suppose you could start with an apology, given how many off-mission hours you spent hanging around my office and flat, and _not_ with your partner,” he said, leaning back as he turned his attention back to the Earl Grey, which tasted too hot, too flat all of a sudden. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, as though trying to think when in reality, he was trying to avoid James’s eyes; he’d know right away what Q was thinking. “Well, I suppose there are two possible ways to go about it,” he said, finally looking at James.

“Which is the easiest?” James asked, leaning forward as he set the ring back into its box, and then put it back into his jacket pocket.

“Well, going with your decision. You could either propose to her at the same place where the two of you first met, or you can propose in a place that is significant to the two of you. My recommendation would be the latter, as sometimes first meetings don’t go very well,” Q said, the corner of his mouth twitching as he thought of the barbs that he and James had exchanged that day in the National Gallery.

“If you could choose, which scenario would you prefer and why?” James asked, watching him carefully.

Unable to handle such scrutiny, Q looked back down at his tea. “Probably the latter,” he said finally, shrugging with one shoulder as he sipped his tea. “If they overlap, all the more better.”

“Do you think it would be a good idea, to ask this person?” James asked, fidgeting in his seat slightly. “Given what I do and everything?”

“I’d probably warn her ahead of time if I were you, but yes, I think this is a good idea,” Q said, smiling despite the slight pulsating of embarrassment in his chest. “You deserve this chance to be happy, James, even if you don’t think so yourself. You can have a family again, granted it may take some adjustment, but I wish you the best.” He leaned forward and said, “Will you continue to work in the service?”

“That is the plan,” James said, frowning. Q felt a jolt of panic— _does he suspect something?_ —but pointedly swallowed a mouthful of tea without looking away, choking a second later because of the now too cold liquid. “Is everything all right?” James asked a moment later once Q stopped coughing.

Q silently raised the cup for emphasis. “Neglected it too long, going to ask the barista just to warm it up a little,” he said, not particularly caring if that hadn’t been James’s true intention behind the question. “Be back in a moment,” he said, nearly tripping over himself when trying not to scramble out of his chair.

James nodded, but his expression didn’t change.

Q could feel the agent’s eyes on his back as he caught an employee’s attention and managed to convince the other man to warm it back up. He stood there for a few minutes before pretending to fumble in his jacket for his mobile, tucking it between his shoulder and ear where James could see it. Then he tilted his body away from James, aware that he was taking the coward’s way out of continuing the discussion, but he had to cut it off while he still could save face.

He hung up when the tea arrived, and he thanked the barista before returning to the table. “That was M,” he said, shoulders sagging as he set the cup down in order to gather his parka from the chair. “Complaining about the budget again, but I think it might be a clerical error,” he said, making a face that prompted James to laugh— _God, I’m going to miss hearing that laugh._

“Good luck with that,” James said, grinning as Q picked up his cup again.

“And good luck with your proposal, hopefully you’ll get a yes,” Q said, raising his cup before turning to leave the café, walking down the street with the smile sliding off his face once he was sure that James couldn’t see him anymore.

For some odd reason, R, Marcela, and a few other Q-Branch staff turned eagerly when Q re-entered the branch, faces hopeful and expectant. R caught on first when he saw Q’s solemn expression. “What happened?” he blurted out as Q pulled his parka off and kept walking towards his office. “What did Bond want?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing important,” Q said, quickly smiling to cover up any evidence of a troubled meeting. “Not really my news to share, although I suspect we’ll all be hearing about it soon,” he added as he kept walking. “If anyone calls, including Bond, just tell them that I’m busy right now and can’t talk. I’ll get to all requests once I have a moment.”

“Is everything all right?” R persisted, causing Q to pause at his door. “Sure you don’t want to tell us?” he asked, causing Q to frown: since when did his branch invest such interest in him and James before? Q had thought that he’d been discreet with his activities with James…

 _Oh_.

“Yes, everything is fine, and no, before you ask, we are not together in the sense that you’re probably thinking. We’re just _friends_ , and that’s it,” Q said, ignoring Marcela’s confused expression, one mirrored on R’s face as he glanced at a few staff near the back, one of whom shrugged, just as puzzled as everyone else. “Please do _not_ spread rumors around MI6 or so help me God I will make sure all participants regret it until they retire,” he warned before entering his office, taking care not to slam the door. He would not _dare_ risk wrecking James’s relationship with his partner just because his staff couldn’t help but spread silly and false workplace rumors that would eventually reach the partner’s ears. Q wondered who the lucky lady was, how he had never noticed before that James had a paramour. Especially since James had never introduced the woman before or mentioned her until now. Instead, he leaned against his door and slid slowly to the ground, already trying to rebuild his composure as it slipped through his fingers.

_He’s happy, that’s what’s important. I never said anything anyway, and he didn’t seem interested in pursuing anything more. I just need a moment without scrutiny._

_Then I can continue on as normal._

He felt his mobile buzz in his pocket, and pulled it out to find James’s name on the Caller ID. He groaned, running his hands through his hair.

_Not now, James._

The mobile beeped when the call went to voicemail, and then remained mercifully silent after.

* * *

 

Q was not surprised to find James in his branch the next morning.

“Harassing my staff again?” he asked dryly, startling both James and R out of their quiet yet evidently heated argument—R had been gesturing sharply—and prompting both to step back so Q could walk through towards his office. He set his laptop on the workstation surface as he walked around to start setting it up. “Bond, I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said, looking at the agent before turning to R. “Do you have those quarterly reports that I need to look over before M drags me back upstairs for another review?”

“Er, I may need to find them again, I set them down before going to handle a minor crisis in the labs,” R said, glancing once at James before nodding once to Q and disappearing with such speed that Q made a mental note to review the security footage later just to make sure that nothing broke or no one was harassed minutes before he walked into the branch.

Q looked up as James approached his table, leaning on it as Q pulled his laptop out. “You look exhausted,” James said after a moment.

“When I finally got home last night, Missy had broken into the hall closet and been gnawing on jacket buttons. Since I only found one of the six confirmed buttons, I had to take her to the vet last night, managed to catch him before he left. He was kind enough to take her as his last patient for the day,” Q said, remembering his sheer _frustration_ as Missy fought him all the way to the car. He raised an eyebrow pointedly before he whispered, “How did it go yesterday?”

James shrugged. “I called to ask the person to meet me somewhere, they didn’t pick up,” he said, watching Q. “Thought I would try again at this afternoon.”

“Oh, speaking of which, I’m sorry for not picking up yesterday, something came up and I had to take care of it,” Q said, raising an eyebrow when James leaned forward so that the two of them were nearly touching noses. “James, I probably should warn you right now,” he said quietly, careful not to look at the staff staring at the two of them, “that my staff was plotting to spread rumors about us yesterday, and for the sake of preserving your relationship with your future fiancée, that they weren’t to spread any.”

“Your point?” James prompted, apparently unconcerned.

“My point is that _you’re not helping!_ They think we’re together and we never once discussed—I mean, we _aren’t_. Your fiancée will come after me once she is through with _you_ and frankly I like being alive, unharmed, and _not harassed_!” Q said, voice rising in volume even as James straightened.

“What do you say we go inside your office to discuss this?” he said, glancing warily at the staff members, some of whom weren’t hiding the fact that they were staring. “Lack of an audience, if you will.”

Wordlessly, Q abandoned his bag and gestured that James follow him to the office, holding the door open until James walked into the office and taken his customary chair that was against the unoccupied office corner behind Q’s desk. Q closed the door and leaned against it, aware that he had little to no defense against James if James brought up yesterday’s weird behavior at the café. “So. Your fiancée,” he said finally, blinking when he saw James arch an eyebrow. “I am only trying to keep my staff in line, I don’t know what the hell has gotten into them, I am so sorry,” he said, speaking quickly to deter James from getting a word in edgewise.

“Q?” James said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s all right. I think the fiancé is going to be more worried over other things,” he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He took a deep breath, and then said, “I wanted to talk to you about yesterday at the café, and when I called you some time after that.”

 _Shit_. “What about it?” Q asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“I know you faked that phone call. I know it was fake because you usually put the mobile to your left ear so that you can still use your right hand to write or type. A habit left over from working and calling people from here,” James said, nodding to the phone on Q’s desk. Blue eyes watched Q carefully as Q seriously considered leaving the office and locking James inside, just to keep him out of the way for several hours. “And you’re still an open book to me, mostly because I’ve learned to memorize your expressions over the last two years. You wear a solemn expression when you extremely angry, smile even though you’re hurt, hold your emotions in until you’re in privacy to let them out when you’re angry or upset because you’re so damn professional you put several senior administrators to shame. I can see it all in your eyes and—”

 _That’s it_. “I’ll let you out of here when I either remember or need to come back inside for something or another,” Q interrupted, turning to leave only to have James’s hand come down on his shoulder when he stepped back to move out of the door’s way. “James—”

“Q, _please_ listen to me before you go,” James said, reaching over Q to close the door again. “I’m sorry.”

Silence. Q gaped at him. “Sorry about _what_?” he growled as he instantly recalled James’s intense discussion with R right as Q walked in less than ten minutes before.

James grinned as he tugged Q back, gently placing him on the couch. He hesitated, and then leaned forward for a gentle kiss, the first Q had ever received from him. Stunned, Q remained absolutely still until he felt James gently cup the back of his neck, and then he made a small noise in the back of his throat when he felt James gently tug on his lower lip. He opened his mouth, moaning softly when James deepened the kiss.

“James…James, we can’t do this,” he said when James moved away to catch his breath, resting his forehead against Q’s. “Your fiancée, you’re about to be engaged. You can’t do this to her, not when you’re about to propose,” he whispered, voice broken as James gently nuzzled him.

“Q? I’m sorry,” James murmured, still holding Q close. Before Q could press, James brought his fingers up to his mouth, whispering against the skin, “I’m sorry for spending two years’ worth my off-mission hours here in your office or flat and not with you. I go off on dangerous missions where I will most likely be killed or have to fuck femme fatales in order to achieve the mission objective. If you will have me, please marry me.” Blue eyes met his own. “I know we weren’t formally ‘dating’, but I thought you wouldn’t want the added liability of a double-oh agent in your life,” he whispered.

Q stared at him. “The last time I asked a coworker to date, they refused and it was awkward after… _how_?” he said, frowning. “How did you know?”

“I had help. A lot of help. A lot of help that would appreciate it if their peaceful retirements weren’t at risk from a vengeful Quartermaster,” James said, studiously not looking to the office door.

“You want to marry _me?_ ” Q said, still shocked.

James nodded. “I understand if you want to think about it…” he said, lowering Q’s hands.

Q pulled him back, meeting him for another kiss. “Of course I will,” he said against James’s lips, smiling when James laughed.


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Q? Are you home?”

“In the bedroom,” came the response from down the hall as Bond pulled off his soaked jacket and hung it up on the rack just next to the door. He toed his shoes off, making a face when he realized that it was still somewhat cold in the flat, but didn’t complain as he padded through the dark living room and down the hall to the bedroom. He paused in the doorway, smiling slightly when he found Q sitting against the headboard with a pillow as his cushion, a book open and propped against drawn knees. He had the blankets pulled up and tucked around his shoulders, and the only light came from his bedside lamp. There was a half-full glass of wine sitting near a familiar worn paperback near the edge.

“Cold?” Bond asked, bending slightly to tug his socks off.

“Mm. I think the heater is busted, but the landlord is gone for the weekend,” Q said, glancing up as Bond started to undress. “James, as much as I want to be warm, I kind of want to read right now and Missy is on my lap.”

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t going to suggest sex. I’m worn out from helping the instructors with the recruits, and I’m still damp from the showers and the rain,” Bond said, pulling his jeans off and heading to the closet to find something that wasn’t covered in cat hair. As he tugged on a pair of sweatpants, he glanced back at Q, and found that the younger man had shrunk underneath the covers. Q’s shoulders still shook slightly, and Bond pulled on a T-shirt and a new pair of socks before walking over and slipping underneath the covers on his side of the bed, scooting closer to the middle. “Here, lie down on me,” he said, propping up his pillow against the headboard.

Q set the book aside to gingerly move himself so that he was partially lying on top of Bond, all without dislodging a purring Missy from his lap. Bond moved her a second later, trying to pull the covers up around the two of them, but she settled back down after Bond had a chance to wrap his hands around Q’s waist. Q hummed softly in contentment as he reached for the wine glass, taking a sip before allowing Bond to steal it from him. As Bond finished it off, Q reached for his book again, holding it up. Bond didn’t immediately say anything, just kept running his nose lightly down Q’s neck as he studied the book in front of him.

“You read French?” he asked after a moment, setting the empty glass back on the bedside table.

“Yes. My aunt lives in France, she sends me books that she thinks I might like,” Q said, turning the page as Bond rested his chin on Q’s shoulder.

“Which aunt is this?”

“The oldest, Aunt Mara. She’s married to the lawyer,” Q said, leaning his head against Bond’s. Bond slowly ran his hands up and down Q’s arms, creating only the slightest friction in order to create a pocket of warmth underneath the blankets. “How did the training go?” Q asked after a moment.

“The trainees are still alive,” Bond replied, burying his nose into the crook of Q’s neck as he rested his hands on Q’s ribcage, the T-shirt fabric warm underneath his fingers. “Only one or two show promise though, the instructor wants me to come with him to Scotland for a crash course on survivalist training.”

“Sounds like fun, hopefully he wants to do that when the weather gets vaguely warm again. Is another agent going with you?” Q asked, turning briefly to accept a light kiss from James.

“Maybe, but he won’t tell the students. Part of an exercise is locating an enemy agent that is picking the trainees off one by one, which means he wants a paintball gun for said agent,” Bond murmured. He finally finished his movements by wrapping his arms around Q’s waist, just above where Missy was now curled up, pressed against Q’s body.

“I’ll send Lee then, snipers are so bloody hard to catch,” Q said, twisting slightly to reach for something else on the bedside table. He picked it up and offered a worn paperback to Bond. “I almost forgot; you gave this to me earlier today to hold onto for you,” he said, pressing the book back into Bond’s hand.

“Mm, that I did,” Bond murmured, grinning when he recognized the book that Q had sent with him on his last mission, to ‘deflect your tendencies for destroying my equipment onto something other than said equipment’. It hadn’t worked, to Q’s chagrin, and now Bond had a book that he’d lost track of how many times he’d read the thing.

He lightly kissed Q’s temple before letting Q lean on his unscarred shoulder so that he could read in peace, Missy’s loud purring and the pattering of rain against the window the only sounds to break the silence.


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“It’s gross and tasteless.”

“You mean just like that remark you just uttered?” Q asked, arching an eyebrow as he curled a protective hand around his still-steaming Scrabble mug. James glared at him from across the flat, where he stood by the coffeemaker while waiting for it to finish. “Honestly James, you act like you’ve never had tea in your life before,” Q said, stretching purposefully across the sofa and taking up as much room as he could with his lean frame. “How can you knock something before you’ve tried it?” he asked, tilting his head as the coffeemaker finally beeped.

“I _have_ tried it before, thank you. And it was, as I stated before, ‘tasteless’, James said as he turned back to the counter to pour his coffee into a nearby mug. “And you’re one to talk, calling coffee ‘black sludge’ if you haven’t had it either.”

“James, how else would I know that it’s black sludge?” Q asked, straightening up in his seat. “Not only that, but I _finished_ that black sludge, voluntarily and without external pressure of having to appear polite in front of the host that offered it to me,” he said before blowing on his tea. He was already anticipating the first sip that would promise heaven and more importantly, a badly needed boost of inspiration for a project he was struggling with at work.

“Could you do it again? Now?”

Q stopped and looked up at James, eyes narrowing when he saw the agent’s raised eyebrow. “Excuse me? Do _what_ again, precisely?” he asked suspiciously, eyes sliding from the agent’s face to the mug of coffee that James absently stirred on the counter next to him. “Drink _that?_ ” he asked, nodding towards the coffee.

“Yes. I drink your tea, assuming you haven’t already, you drink my coffee, winner gets an evening of their choice,” James said, picking up his mug and carrying it out of the kitchenette, setting it down on the small coffee table between them. “First person to finish theirs wins,” he said, picking up Q’s legs and moving them off the sofa, smirking when he managed to sit down before Q could replace his legs. “And to sweeten the deal, I’ll even offer twenty-four hours of my free time for your use in the branch,” he said as Q set his mug on the coffee table.

“You do know that applies to actually doing work in the branch, right?” Q said, grinning when James feigned a wounded expression at the implication. Then his breath caught when James leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss at his temple before nuzzling his hair.

“Of course, Quartermaster, I’m an honorable man,” he whispered, jerking away in surprise when Q turned and kissed him. “Just one mug, and a free evening and twenty-four of my hours are all yours,” he said, grinning as he leaned forward again, resting foreheads with Q.

“And if I lose?” Q asked, refusing to believe that there wasn’t a catch on his part.

“Not only do I get a free evening, but you take twenty-four hours off work and come somewhere with me,” James said, resting a hand on Q’s waist. “Then we’ll go somewhere gorgeous and I’ll slowly torture you for hours in a nice hotel room and we can pretend we’re on honeymoon again,” he whispered, slowly forcing Q onto his back, the younger man landing on a small pile of pillows seconds before Q reached up and pulled James down with him. “Sound like a deal?” he suggested after a moment, raising a brow when Q nodded.

“Yes. Now get off of me so that I can drink your horrid coffee.”

James laughed but moved anyways, handing his mug over to Q before taking Q’s. “Try not to choke, this is definitely something I never want to explain to M,” he said, raising the mug as Q gingerly examined James’s coffee.

Q nodded, raising the mug in response to James’s gesture. “One, two… _three_ ,” he said, careful not to slosh the liquid as he took his first gulp, seconds behind James.

 _I’ve forgotten how fucking bitter this stuff is_.

Struggling not to reflexively choke either was difficult as well, even more so when James’s face twisted in disgust at the first gulp of tea. Q pressed on, eyes watering at the hot coffee as he tried to get another gulp down before setting the mug aside to cough. He saw James pause, muscles tensing before Q wheezed, “Went down the wrong pipe, I’m fine.”

James nodded and went back to the tea, sticking his tongue out a moment later as his face scrunched up. Q bowed his head before snatching the coffee mug back, determinedly guzzling down the rest of the coffee as he kept an idea on James, who seemed to catch on to the same idea.

The moment he cleaned the coffee out of the mug, he triumphantly held the mug into the air, arching a brow when James shook his head. “You have to swallow it, Q, I can see that your cheeks are puffed up from that last mouthful,” he said before taking what Q realized was his last swallow.

_Well, I have to deal with the horrible aftertaste anyway, a little more won’t make it worse._

Q swallowed it, and then promptly gagged.

James at least had the decency to look away when he accidentally sprayed tea, laughter shaking his frame as he leaned on the back of the couch for support. “Your _face_ was _priceless_ ,” he said, curling to protect himself when Q tried to half-heartedly smack him. “You win, you win, damn, I wish I had a camera…” he said, setting the Scrabble mug down on the table.

Q threw a pillow at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to mention that this ficlet does not represent my opinions on either coffee or tea, I actually enjoy both. :)


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> None

“Ah, there you are.”

Q’s back may have been to him and his face buried in his hands, but Bond didn’t miss the way the man froze for a moment before standing up. Bond frowned at the way Q’s clothes seemed to hang loosely on his frame as Q turned to face him, a peeved expression on his face that slid into one of neutrality when he recognized the speaker. Bond pretended not to notice, drifting through the main floor of Q-Branch with a full champagne glass in one hand and a plate of pilfered biscuits in the other. “Was there something you wanted, double-oh seven?” Q asked finally, in the formal tone that Bond was used to hearing when speaking to Q— _only three times in the last month since Skyfall_ —and Bond considered to be Q’s strongest defense against threats.

Threats such as Bond.

“Yes, actually. I wanted to know how you managed to get out of the mandatory company holiday party, and your first one as Quartermaster,” Bond said, keeping his voice light as he set the plate down on a workstation that was in the middle of the skeleton crew still working at their desks. “I’ve been trying to get out of going for years, and somehow you pulled it off,” he said, offering the glass to Q, whose eyes narrowed before he silently shook his head.

“I told Mall—er, _M_ , uh, I mean, well, you know who I mean, that someone had to stay on duty in the off chance that a terrorist decided not to take today off,” Q said, stepping away from Bond when the agent tried to sit down on the workstation close to him. “There. Now go,” he said, turning back to his work.

“Do you want me to get you something more substantial than biscuits?” Bond asked, ignoring the way a few techs behind him froze, hands outstretched for the plate.

“No thank you,” Q said, checking between his three computers before pulling up a fourth monitor. He raised an eyebrow when Bond didn’t move. “Double-oh seven, unless there is a life threatening emergency, I am going to have to ask you to leave now. And don’t come back unless you have an assignment from M.”

“And if I want to stay anyway?” Bond prodded, finally spotting the tension lines that always appeared when he managed to exchange a few sentences with Q.

“Bond, what do you really want?” Q said, looking away from the monitor with a tired expression. “I have so much to do before double-oh four leaves in the morning to Las Vegas for her mission, and it’s been a long day already between budget and committee meetings with M and the Ministry of Defence.”

“Why does the Ministry of Defence care about what you do here in Q-Branch?” Bond asked, watching as Q went back to his monitors. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a few technicians stand up and scoot a few rows away from Q and Bond. _It can’t be that bad_ , Bond thought, frowning as he turned to face Q again.

“Because they’re still questioning over whether I can do my job and not get Mallory killed,” Q said without preamble, pulling up a chair for himself as he nudged his office chair towards Bond. “It took everything I had to keep them from forcing me to deal with a Ministry-appointed supervisor since as far as they think, I can’t do my own fucking job.”

 _Skyfall_. “I thought it wasn’t your fault that M died,” Bond said, frowning. “Didn’t you say that Silva had planned the whole thing from the start?”

Q snorted. “Try telling that to them. I shouldn’t have plugged in the cables, I was so goddamn _focused_ on recovering the fucking list of NATO agents that I wasn’t _thinking,_ ” he snapped, turning to face Bond, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Do you—no, of course you don’t, you weren’t here,” he said, abruptly standing up and running his hands through his hair. “Even now, months later, I still can’t sleep well because Major Boothroyd and I tried so hard and worked so long _every night for three months_ to find that list. If I had just been a little more cautious, just thought straight, M wouldn’t have—”

“Q,” Bond interrupted, recognizing the dangerous territory of ‘what ifs’ as he leaned over and caught Q’s sleeve, pulling him down so that he nearly collapsed on top of Bond. “We don’t know what could have happened if you hadn’t released Silva, he may have had a backup plan for all we know. My point is, _there’s nothing you can do about it since it’s done,”_ he growled, keeping his voice down. “I could be agonizing over what could have happened _if_ I was a little faster leaving the manor to the chapel, but I’m not. That’s what you do in this business, you move on. The agents need you here and _now_ , not still stuck in the past.”

“But how the hell do we learn from those mistakes in order to not repeat them?”

“Then learn, and stop dwelling. The reason I won’t forgive you is because there’s nothing to forgive. M knew the risks when she joined the agency, and so did you. I asked for your discretion, I asked you to leave that digital trail,” Bond said, watching Q tense and look away, shifting nervously in Bond’s grip. “Q, what did you tell the committees?” he asked after a moment, frown deepening as Q tried to squirm free.

He didn’t reply right away. Finally, he hesitated, glancing at his staff before he quietly said, “I, erm, may have told them that the whole digital trail and taking M elsewhere was my idea. I didn’t know what the punishments were going to be and you were grieving. I didn’t want to add more to the list of things for you to deal with.”

Bond stared at him. “Why? We hardly know each other,” he said bluntly.

“I know, but as you pointed out earlier, it is my job to be there for the agents. And if that means covering for them so that they can recover in peace, then so be it,” Q said quietly, glancing back at his staff. “I’ve seen your service record, double-oh seven, and I’ve seen you improving over the last month. You may be older, but you’re not down for the count just quite yet,” he said, tugging himself free before heading back to his monitors. “You just need a little more time, and I tried to buy you more. Simple

“Bond. It’s Bond,” the agent said a moment later, still watching Q.

“Pardon?”

“My name is Bond, when I’m off duty,” he said, watching Q as the other nodded once in acknowledgement.

“Of course…Bond,” Q said before pulling up another map and watching a few trackers, leaving Bond to sit in Q-Branch in peace, turning over their conversation in his head.


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“How the _fuck_ did I let you talk me into doing this?”

“Because Tess and Will are your colleagues and friends, and both happen to be in the hospital now because of broken limbs. So we’re doing them a favor,” Q said as he pulled against the curb in front of the indicated address. The Fairbanks home was quiet, but Tess had warned him that the children were staying with maternal grandparents until either Tess or Will could come home. Turning the car off, he glanced at James, who still looked somewhat cranky all bundled up in his thick jacket. “Shovels are in the boot. The sooner you get out and help me, the sooner we can go home and cuddle in front of the fire,” he said, leaning over to kiss James’s cheek before getting out of the car seconds just in time to dodge James’s wandering hand.

Snow crunched underneath his feet as he went to the boot, carefully tucking the car keys into his pocket as he surveyed the short, snow-covered driveway that led to a small house. Even alone, he didn’t think that the task would take long. Humming to himself, he tugged his hat closer around his ears and opened the boot, pulling out the first shovel he could reach and leaving the boot open— _for when James decides to help out._

“Remember James, the sooner you get your arse out here, the sooner we can leave!” he called over his shoulder before walking to the edge of the driveway. He glanced back for a moment in time to see James raise two fingers in his direction before he shrugged with one shoulder and went back to work, starting from the edge of the driveway and shoveling his way across the pavement.

Q soon settled into the rhythm of the task, ignoring the slowly growing burn in his shoulders as he began his third row. _Don’t look ahead, the task looks more daunting from here…I should have brought music to listen to while doing this, but I had kind of been hoping that James would be out here too, so we could talk._ His jaw twitched when he felt a muscle twinge in his arm— _have to be careful of the wrists_ —but kept shoveling along, attempting to maintain his current speed without overthinking it, in case he fell prey to the temptation to rest. _After which I’ll never get started again…_

_Creeak!_

Q jerked sharply towards the car, but relaxed when he saw that it was only the car door that had interrupted the steady _screesh, screesh_ of the shovel. “Trust me, James, it’ll be done very quickly,” he said, gesturing to the rest of the driveway. 

“Remind me to tell Will that he needs to be home more often,” James said, making a face as he trudged through the snow towards the open boot.

“Only if you want a fist to the nose,” Q warned, leaning on his own shovel so he could catch his breath. “Will may still be in a hospital bed, but there’s a reason that makes him excellent in compensating for Lee’s weakened close-quarters combat skills.” He then turned back to his own shoveling, listening with one ear as James muttered something under his breath before rummaging around in the boot of the other shovel. _At least we live in a flat, and don’t have to worry quite so much about clearing this amount of snow._ Scooping up another shovelful of snow, he tossed it off to his left towards the rest of the still snow-covered driveway.

_Poooof!_

“Fuck!” Q yelped when snow exploded overhead, the shovel jerking as the snowball connected with the blade. He twisted around to find James pausing mid-stride with his shovel braced against his shoulder, arching a brow in mild confusion when Q glared at him. “Did you just throw that?” Q demanded, already risking a glance to the other side of the driveway, just in case some young neighbors had gotten the idea to attack the ‘strangers’ on the Fairbanks’ property.

“Do I look like I have enough available hands to throw snow?” James asked, showing his one empty hand before raising the one with the shovel. “No. I’m just walking over to start on the side closest to the garage. Focus Q, weren’t you just saying that a few moments ago?” he said, shaking his head even as Q looked down at his own shovel, spotting the small splotch of white where the snow had connected with the blade. _All right then, it actually happened, I’m not going crazy._ Shaking his head, Q turned his attention back to his shoveling.

_Smack!_

“Fuck! _James!”_ he squealed, twisting around seconds after he felt the snowball collide with his ribs. He looked up in time to see James hurriedly picking his shovel up again, smirking even as Q set his shovel down long enough to scoop some snow into a ball and throw it. It landed with a _thud_ against the garage door, and Q just gave James the finger before going back to shoveling the snow in the one row.

_Smack!_

“Oh, for—James! If this job takes _hours_ , I want you to know that it’s your fault!” Q snapped as the next snowball exploded against the shaft. He turned to find that James was leaning on his shovel, grinning as he rested his chin on top of his folded hands. “You could at least put some effort into pretending that you’re shoveling. And if you get _any_ snow, even just a flake, on the driveway that I’ve already shoveled, you’re going to be the one cleaning it up while I enjoy the car heater all to myself,” he warned, shaking a finger even as he fought a smile back.

James merely shrugged. “Whatever makes you happy, my dear Quartermaster,” he said before leaning down to pick up a handful of snow. “Besides, I can easily hit the clean driveway.”

“Oh yes? Prove it,” Q said without thinking, grip tightening on his shovel as James formed the snowball in his hand.

Q moved the same time James did, easily raising the shovel the same time that James threw the snowball, this time holding his ground as the snowball smacked against the blade. James frowned, and then bent down to scoop up more snow. 

Q exhaled, and then moved into a crouch, fully prepared to defend the clean driveway.

_Bring it on._


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

It was nearly midnight when a soft snore caught Bond’s attention. 

He looked down at Q, who had fallen asleep at some point with his head on Bond’s shoulder and his book left open on his lap. Bond carefully leaned over and managed to reach the TV remote, careful not to disturb Q. Turning the TV off, he set his own book aside on the small table before twisting to examine the situation: Q, he could easily pick up and carry without waking him up—he’d gone into work early and left late—but Missy was another factor altogether. Q would have to carry her, but was in no state to do anything at the moment.

Very carefully, Bond turned so that Q’s head rested on his chest instead, Bond’s opposite shoulder turned to keep Q from falling over. Then he moved the book off Q’s lap before gently scooping him into a bridal carry, about to stand up when Q abruptly moved and twisted around to snuggle chest-to-chest with Bond. He mumbled something under his breath before nuzzling the crook of Bond’s neck, finally resting his cheek on Bond’s shoulder.

_All right then._

Carefully removing Q’s glasses, Bond set them on the nearby table in hopes of coming back to pick them up and place them on the bedside table on Q’s side. The he rearranged Q’s legs around his waist and then held on as he slowly moved into a standing position, while simultaneously balancing Q. _Thank you, Naval and Double-O training, for teaching me to carry unconscious individuals without disturbing them_ , he thought as he felt Q wrap his legs and arms around Bond’s torso. “And I don’t think you’re quite as asleep as you’re leading me to believe,” he murmured into the thick curls as he began walking towards their bedroom. “Good thing that you’re already in your pajamas, I’d have a hell of a time waking you up for that.”

“Love you too, James,” Q mumbled back.

Bond merely smiled before he entered the bedroom, a faint _thump_ audible behind him as Missy jumped down from the nearest bookcase to run past him into the bedroom. Mindful not to step on her tail, he paused long enough to let her through and then bent over to gently deposit Q on the bedspread.

And nearly fell down when Q’s arms and legs tightened around him.

Bond grunted, propping himself up on bent arms to keep from crushing Q. He frowned when he saw that Q’s expression was that of peaceful sleep, and then balanced himself to reach around his neck to pry the fingers, as gently as he could, apart from each other. Then he gently kissed Q’s forehead before lowering him all the way down to the bed, squeezing both hands and placing them down across Q’s chest. Then he gingerly hoisted himself onto the bed, so that he towered over Q in order to unlock Q’s ankles.

He was careful not to let either leg fall as he untangled the ankles in order to escape, gently setting each one down. Right as he started to get up from the bed, however, Q groaned, stretched, and then reached up, lazily locking his hands loosely around Bond’s neck. Then he yawned and began to slowly pull Bond down again.

Then Bond saw the twitch in the corner of his mouth.

“You _little—_ ” he began even as Q broke out laughing, letting Bond go as he rolled to his side to curl in laughter. Bond growled before moving to his side of the bed, lying on his side as Q scooted close enough for their foreheads to touch. “How long were you awake?” Bond whispered as Q covered a yawn

“Resting really, I woke myself up with the snore,” Q admitted, turning slightly pink. He tilted his head as the bed jerked, and a faint _mrrow_ came from the foot as Missy padded her way in between the two of them. Bond closed his eyes right as she bumped against him, purring as she turned around to bump foreheads with Q.

“Watch the tail,” Bond grumbled as he sat up. “I’ll go get ready for bed, I’ll get your glasses before I come back,” he said, watching Q, who stared in his general direction. He slowly leaned forward for a kiss, and then stood up. “Make sure she stays out of my spot,” he warned before heading towards the door.

“No promises,” Q murmured behind him, Bond glancing over his shoulder in time to see Missy curl up on his pillow.

_Damn, not again._


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_I shouldn’t be out here. If the dragon doesn’t kill me first, Lady Mansfield will._

Q swallowed nervously, rearranged his cloak around himself, and then clucked softly to encourage Aston, his lover’s former loyal horse, forward. He kept a loose hand on the reins, letting Aston navigate on his own while keeping a careful eye on the trees surrounding the two of them as they entered the forest at the mountain base. It had snowed earlier in the month, but Q could feel the dropping temperatures as night—and an impending snowstorm—crept forward across the sky. His sword bumped gently against his leg, Aston’s flanks warming his skin through the breeches he’d stolen from the riding captain right before his departure. He’d chosen maneuverability over protection, but the overall insanity of his plan was starting to catch up to him.

_James wouldn’t approve, chasing after a dragon without armor. Then again, he wouldn’t approve that I continued training just to find closure after his death three years ago—well, the bastard should have never taken the fucking shortcut to the manor in the first place, and it’s his fucking fault if I get killed tonight._

Q swallowed back the ache in his chest, squeezing his eyes together as he nudged Aston further; the horse was now hesitant, ears flickering against its skull as it danced in the path before Q squeezed his knees in order to coax it further. “You definitely remember being here, then,” he murmured, recalling how difficult it had been to retrace James’s steps in order to locate the same forest, the same dragon. He reached forward to rub the neck in circular motions, imbuing a little calming magic into his hands to avoid from falling off.

Aston only calmed down for another several hundred meters until they reached the base of the mountain, a thin rocky path inclining up and out of sight around the corner. Aston promptly jerked his head back, shifting violently and tugging the reins from Q’s cold fingers. “Oh, shit _,”_ Q muttered as he waited until Aston had turned slightly before sliding off the horse and stumbling upon landing. It took him another few minutes to catch the lead rope, nearly burning his hand as he tried to catch and hold it.

Aston continued to tug on the lead even as Q tied the rope to the nearest tree, wishing he’d brought a hobbling line with him instead. “I’ll try not to take long,” he said, scattering food on the ground around the tree. The wood creaked when Aston tried to tug free, but to no avail. Q shivered as a few fat flakes began to fall, and then shook his head. _Now is not the time for doubts. Just be quick, strike under the arms or underneath the jaw before it wakes up, and run like hell if it does._

The path up the mountain grew steeper the closer he walked to the pass, and he closed his eyes when he heard Aston begin neighing behind him, the wind carrying the distressed calls into the sky. His grip tightened on the pommel as he paused at where the path turned, heart pounding painfully as he glanced around.

A shallow, snow-covered valley lay before him, the path itself still hugging the mountain as it inclined away from the valley. Q’s heart froze when he saw a blackened shape in the bottom of the valley, but no sign of a dragon. Even as he continued walking slowly up the path, he squinted and saw that the black shape was actually the charred remains of what he suspected used to be a cabin— _someone’s home_ —and almost turned around.

He spotted the pile of rocks almost right away, the heat that emanated from the human-sized hole in the side of the pile covering the entrance of the den. Heart pounding in his chest, he noted that it was almost nightfall andslipped into the den, mindful of the little rocks underfoot. Q looked around, grateful for once that he’d used semi-legal enchantments to improve his vision for this mission. The den was a hollowed cave in the mountainside, shrinking in size the farther back it went. He held his breath, hoping to hear the dragon itself and not his own heartbeat, but even then it took a few minutes to hear the gentle rumbles of a sleeping beast.

 _It’s huge_.

The dying sunlight filtering through the rocks revealed a golden scaly wall in front of him, slowly moving in and out with each rumble. A thin layer of treasure lined the floor, mostly piled against the sides of the den up to where he could see holders for unlit torches. Q carefully pulled his sword out, moving around the scales as he scanned the treasure for some sign of James’s sword. Wary of the dragon, he used his other hand to summon a tiny flame and shrugged his cloak off; it was growing hotter in the cavern.  He turned to drape the cloak on the nearest object sticking out of the nearest pile of treasure

Q froze when he recognized the seal of Skyfall on the sword’s pommel.

_James was here._

He sent the flame towards the ceiling, casting a blue glow over the cavern. Scales glittered in the light as he realized how painfully close to the dragon’s curled tail he was, sharp spikes glistening in the light as the large, golden flanks moved with each steady breath. Q felt his heart squeeze when he recognized the pile of metal not too far from the dragon’s head as James’s old armor— _bloodstained, but definitely his, I recognize the kerchief tied to the wrist, I gave that to him_ —but froze when he turned his attention to the nearby lump of scales.

A blue eye flecked with gold watched him.

 _Well, fuck_.

He extinguished the light as soon as the dragon turned towards him, managing to dive for cover right as the dragon stood, blowing flame onto the torches surrounding the den. Q vaguely remembered his plan to flee, but the dragon snarled and blocked the only exit, head bowed as it inhaled for another blast of fire. Retreating, Q dove for the side as the fire blast came close enough for him to feel the searing heat along his back. _Was James this helpless when it attacked?’_ he wondered as he looked up at the creature, staring at the long teeth as it moved a foot, forcing Q to move before it could pin him down. A low snarl, and the dragon kept its tail against the exit before it moved for Q, snapping at him as Q _ran_ and tried to re-strategize his approach.

 _There’s no way to kill it now, all weak points are out of reach_.

Q flattened against the wall, keeping a hand behind his back as he dropped the sword in order to summon the magic necessary for a strike. Then, when the dragon shot another fireball at him, he sent his own blast of magic, dodging the fire before looking up in time to see his magic stop short of the target of the dragon’s jaw as a blue shimmer appeared— _protection wards_.

_How the fuck does a dragon get any kind of magic wards?_

His hesitation cost him. The dragon immediately struck, pinning Q against the wall with a massive foot, claws sinking into the rock as Q felt his breath rush out with the force of the blow. Q tried to summon another wave of magic, but squeaked when he felt that the wards on the dragon muted his own powers. He felt his mouth go dry as he struggled to breathe, the dragon seemingly content now as it settled back on the ground save for the one foot that kept Q pinned to the wall. “Why won’t you just finish it?” he whispered, voice cracking in desperation after a moment, watching as the dragon’s head snapped towards him. “You’ve already taken my partner!” he snapped, blinking when the dragon flinched at the accusation.

For a moment the dragon regarded him, and then snaked its tail to smack aside James’s old armor, creating a horrible clanging sound around the cave.

Q blinked, and then said, “Yes, that was his…”

The dragon exhaled sharply, causing two spurts of flame to come out of its nose. Q fell silent before trying to wiggle again; the dragon applied more pressure, rendering Q immobile. Defeated, Q sagged in its grip, watching the dragon rest its head on a leg, blue eyes lazily blinking before it fell asleep again.

_This can’t be happening._

Q must have dozed off at some point as well; when he jerked awake again, he was suddenly free, tucked with a stolen robe and a thin pallet. His heart clawed its way into his throat as he looked around, remembering the dragon, when he saw that he was still in the den, near the back this time. The torches around the den were still lit, but the dragon was nowhere in sight. Instead, Q saw a hunched figure in front of what looked like a campfire in the center of the den, the figure’s back to Q. _How did—did he kill it? Or did it wander off and now he’s using the den for the night?_

He groaned aloud when he spotted the other living creature—Aston, the bloody horse—standing nearby, eating something from a bag near the figure. “Hey,” he croaked, trying to pull himself from the pallet. “Hey, that’s mine— _fuck_!” he swore as his arm gave out underneath him and he collapsed. He froze when he saw the figure rise and walk purposefully towards him, the silhouette so painfully familiar that Q convinced he was dreaming now, that the dragon had actually killed him and he was dreaming.

He only thought he was dead for sure when he recognized James Bond kneeling down beside him, the familiar blue eyes watching him as James smiled sadly before gently nudging him back onto the pallet, tucking the robe back in.

“James?” he whispered as a buried grief ripped through his heart.


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

All he heard on the other side of the door was silence.

“I think that’s enough of an invitation,” Bond said over his shoulder to Alec as he knelt to use the ‘borrowed’ (unreturned) lockpick Q had given him for his last mission on the Q-Branch doors. Alec stood guard a few paces down, at where the four corridors intersected, and kept an eye out for any trouble. Both agents had been careful to remain in the numerous blind spots of the cameras that dotted the halls from the main lobby all the way to the branch, even slipping past the six night security guards that had been left in charge of watching the main entrance.

“Are you sure that no one in the regular staff is here, and the skeleton crew is sparse enough to slip by?” Alec asked warily as the panel next to the doors abruptly lit up in green, the two doors sliding noiselessly open.

Bond nodded. “Recon, remember?” he said, nodding once in confirmation to Alec, who nodded back. Six weeks of reconnaissance, he recalled as he slipped into the branch and hugged the darkened walls of the main room. Six weeks of alternating between harassing and flirting shamelessly with his lover as Q tried to simultaneously work and keep his amused staff in line. Q, who would most likely be wilting from having to attend a formal (and long) dinner with members of Parliament at M’s behest in order to encourage more funding for MI6 at the very moment.

Bond had also figured that tonight would be an excellent time to investigate the new weapon that resided in R&D, the one Q was boasting about to Eve when Bond walked into the office two months ago. He’d clammed up, smirking as he refused to tell Bond what it was, even when Bond tickled or loved him. Instead, he left teasing hints just to irritate Bond. Roping Alec into playing guard for the evening hadn’t been difficult at all.

R was reading a book at his workstation, which was conveniently located near the door that led to the R&D labs, as Bond slipped closer. Scrutiny told Bond that R actually had a second, smaller book tucked inside the technical manual, and the man was too engrossed to realized that he hadn’t turned a page in hours. He didn’t even blink when Bond slipped past him and into the R&D halls.

He pulled the lockpick out once more and knelt to access the control panel to the labs, smirking to himself when the next panel came to life with a green light as well and the doors opened to admit him. Tucking the pick into a pocket, Bond scanned the now lit firing range and the darkened labs off to the left, and went for the latter, only pausing when he spotted the glass case that had the wrapped weapon; he could make out the distinctive shape of an unusually sized firearm sitting on a little pedestal. The case itself was bolted to the shelf it sat on, and had a digital pad with glowing numbers attached to the bottom of the case.

_I’ll just take the whole case then, and not waste time here._

Plan set, he glanced around the room and spotted the toolkit. Without hesitation, he pulled a screwdriver out and leaned forward to begin unscrewing the case from the shelf.

_Splotch!_

Bond remained absolutely still, silently registering the thick, dark, viscous liquid slowly oozing down his face from where it had squirted; he hadn’t seen the miniature launcher until he looked down to see the ink coming at him. Hoping to God it didn’t stain—he didn’t want to explain this one to Q—he leaned forward and set back down to unscrewing the case.

_Click!_

He froze yet again at the sound of someone flicking the switch, but relaxed again when he heard Q’s familiar sigh and the whisper of cloth being removed. “I’m quite glad now that I didn’t bet against you,” he heard Q say as the footsteps drew closer, a hand lightly touching his shoulder to alert Bond to his location. “Don’t talk until I wipe your face,” he said when Bond started to open his mouth.

He waited patiently as Q used a material to wipe the offending ink away. “What the fuck was that?” he growled, blinking at Q, who tossed the now ruined lab coat to the side.

“Right now? Synthetic ink designed to mimic octopus ink, and the safe version of the final product,” Q said, sitting back on his heels as he pulled a flannel square from a pocket to continue wiping away the remnants from Bond’s face. “It will be mixed with acid for the final product, and used as a safety measure so that if a thief were to get away with the item we were trying to guard, we’d at least have a way to identify him. It’s the gizmo I was telling Eve about and you were nagging after,” he continued, looking sheepish in front of Bond’s scowl. “And we needed a test subject to see if the mini-launcher worked with the ink before we went through the trouble trying to protect it from the acid.”

“So you picked _me_?” Bond growled even as Q shook his head.

“Not necessarily, I just needed _someone_ and I couldn’t spare any staff. Turns out all I had to do was step out of the office for the evening in order to make the effort worthwhile to the first agent to try,” Q said before kissing Bond lightly.

“Did you even _go_ to a dinner tonight?” Bond asked suspiciously as Q helped him up.

“No, pleaded ill because I couldn’t stand the thought of sitting near my brother at an evening function for several hours. M had a sick sense of humor, seating me next to him and putting my ‘date’, also known as my bodyguard, on my other side,” Q said grimly. “I already put up with him enough during Christmas dinner, I don’t need to do it here too.”

“Christmas dinner? That can’t be too bad,” Bond began, but Q shook his head.

“Try sitting with him and my other brother for more than two hours, and I’ll make that bloody exploding pen,” Q said grimly. “Fail, and you’re stuck in Q-Branch, doing every task we ask of you, for one month.”

Bond scoffed. “Deal.”


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_I’ve got you now, James._

“Good afternoon double-oh seven, looks like you’re off to…” Q said, leaning over the workstation to open the email from M on his laptop. “Budapest, this evening. Standard assassination followed by the arrest of the woman traveling with your target,” he said, looking up at James, who arched an eyebrow as he rested open palms on the  table surface. “Both are American tourists, and both are married to each other,” he said, pulling up the files. “Joseph and Claire Sherman, both are suspected of trafficking,” he said, looking at James with a smile as James leaned forward and rested his hands on Q’s forearms.

“You seem unusually cheerful for being just about to send me out on a mission,” James remarked, leaning forward for a brief kiss, allowing Q to pull his arms back so that they could clasp hands. Pulling Q forward slightly so that he could rest his chin on Q’s shoulder, he whispered, “What are you going to do while I’m gone?”

“Actually, it’s something _you’re_ going to do while _you’re_ gone,” Q said, squeezing James’s hands for a moment before straightening back. He leaned over and picked up a familiar black leather case. He smiled when he opened it and presented James the Walther PPK. “It’s been modified,” he explained, taking the handgun out and handing it over to James. “The new casing is made of glass, metal and diamond, and has been tested for every method of destruction that you have used in the past. We were very careful about combing your files,” he explained as James turned it over in his hands. “Theoretically, it’s indestructible, but that’s where you come in. We weren’t able to test the final product, so that is what _you’re_ going to do.”

James looked up at him with an arched brow. “That sick of me breaking your things?” he asked wryly as he aimed the gun to the side, keeping the safety on. “And tell me, my dear, how do you plan to test its destructibility if I happen to lose it?”

“That’s where the second test comes in. The handgrip, in addition to the dermal sensors, also contains six prototype trackers that are waterproof, fireproof, and hopefully animal-proof as well. We can’t really test the signals until it’s lost, the signals activate forty-eight hours after the last recorded use from the handprint sensors,” Q said, leaning forward with a pleased smile.

“So let me get this straight. You _want_ me to destroy _and_ lose this gun just so you can run a couple tests?” James asked, leaning back on a foot. “And who, pray tell, is funding such a potentially pricey experiment?”

“Yes to the first two, and none of your business to the third,” Q said, already thinking of the seven months of fundraising it had taken to get the money. Not to mention M’s enthusiastic—and supposedly anonymous—participation in the project. Hopefully, it would pay off in the long run when Q had something more salvageable than pieces to work with for repairs. He smirked and said, “Up to the mission, then, double-oh seven? It shouldn’t be difficult at all, given your penchant for destroying my equipment.”

James mirrored his smirk. “With pleasure, my dear Quartermaster, with pleasure,” he said before leaning in for a kiss. “Now I have to go or I’ll miss my flight.”

Q kissed him before handing over the passport and tickets. “Now go, and bring me back something nice if you have the chance,” he said, smiling despite himself as James left the branch. “All right, the tests are about to start,” he said to R, who nodded. “Once we get the data from the wrecked gun, we can improve it to make a gun that even the great double-oh seven can’t destroy or lose.”

James didn’t return home until three weeks later, the couple having slipped him in Budapest and across Europe in a merry chase that left even Q irked. The woman was unconscious when James returned with her tied up in the backseat of a car he stole in Barcelona. Q was rubbing sleep out of his eyes when he looked up to find James entering Q-Branch, an affectionate smile on his face as he nodded to various night staff members in greeting before approaching Q. Q hummed softly as James met him for a kiss, and then heard the faint _clunk_ of a case in front of him.

“Hello dear, how was your day?” Q asked as he reached for the case.

“Droll, I’m glad to be home,” James said, glancing down at the case as Q typed in the four digit code in the lock. He placed a hand on the case lid as Q started to push it open, and then added, “I hope you like what I brought home for you.”

Q smiled. “I’m sure I—” he stopped speaking when he looked down at the contents of the case.

A fully intact Walther PPK, with not even a scratch.

Q stared at it, at first unable to react. “The one time I want you to destroy it, so that we here at the branch can _test_ something, and you bring it back intact?” he asked, looking up at James with an arched eyebrow as he slowly sat back down in his chair. “So if I asked you to destroy the next one, you’ll bring it back?”

“No guarantee,” James said, grinning broadly as Q looked at the intact gun.

“You did this on purpose to annoy me, didn’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

Q groaned before banging his head on the table in frustration.


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Hold _still_ , Winston, I might keep you leashed longer on purpose if you don’t.”

Bond winced at the loud bark in his ear, and then returned his focus to unclipping the lead even as Winston let out a low thin whine, looking across a silent and empty snow-covered Hyde Park. Next to Bond, Ilsa pawed his knee in a bid for attention, and he only turned to her once he set Winston loose. The two dogs took off across the snow-covered grass, barking and rolling around in the snow. He closed his eyes, breathing in the stillness that always accompanied a winter night as he tuned out the dogs’ yips and crunching snow. Bond turned then, blue eyes scanning the moonlit ground for stick large enough to keep Winston and Ilsa busy for hours.

The change in Winston’s barking pitch was Bond’s only warning.

He turned in time to see Winston charge a figure in the distance, the person turning right as Winston barreled into the figure’s legs. Bond winced at the large cloud of snow that flew up in the wake of the fall, and began running as Ilsa ran after Winston. “Winston, _down!”_ he shouted, grabbing Ilsa’s collar right as she tried to jump on top of the pedestrian. “Damn it, Winston!” he snapped, reaching out and hauling Winston off of the person by the collar. He retreated with both dogs as they struggled to run again, Winston whining. “I’m sorry sir, they’re sometimes difficult to manage,” he said as the person groaned, rolling over onto his side.

“Now you know how _I_ feel every day when I have to deal with you double-ohs _,_ ” Q growled, peering at Bond through crooked glasses. He grunted when trying to sit up, and then flopped back down on the packed snow. “Help me up, please?”

“Hang on.” Bond coaxed the two dogs back before letting go of Ilsa’s collar. Bending over, he picked up a short branch and released Winston once he was confident that Winston saw the branch. “Winston, Ilsa,” he called softly, moving the branch where they cold see it, and relaxed when both dogs sat without further prompting, ready to run. Then he threw the branch across the park, moving out of the way as both dogs tore after it. “Sorry about that, I didn’t realize that someone was going to be out here this late,” he said, leaning down to help Q up. “Which begs the question of why you’re here to begin with,” he remarked, glancing Q over, the man looking paler than Bond remembered last seeing him.

“Worked late, and didn’t feel like braving the Tube,” Q said, brushing himself off. He nodded after the two dogs that were now in an odd tug-of-war with the branch. “Are they yours? What kind of dogs are they?”

“Ilsa and Winston, Winston is the one who knocked you over. They’re both black Labrador retrievers,” Bond explained, glancing back as Ilsa managed to yank the branch away from Winston, running when Winston tried to snatch it back. “Miller recommended having them around, to keep the silence at bay when I was in between missions.”

“Has it been working?” Q asked, palming his forehead a second later. “Sorry, it’s none of my business, never mind.” He shook his head and said, “I should probably go, it’s late and I have to go in early tomorrow morning.”

“Actually, it has,” Bond said, catching Q off guard with his reply. “If you haven’t noticed, keeping Winston under control is a fulltime job in of itself, so it takes my mind off other things. I have a reason to come home, and the only difficulty comes in figuring out who to leave them with when I have to go out on missions, as Kincade lives in Glencoe, not London,” he explained, shrugging with one shoulder as Ilsa came back with the branch held between her jaws. “Toss it to her,” he suggested when Q raised an eyebrow as Ilsa dropped it at their feet.

“Will she even mind?” Q asked, gingerly kneeling to pick up the branch.

“They don’t really care as long as that branch is in the air and moving, soon,” Bond said as Winston trotted up, tail wagging eagerly as he sat down obediently next to Ilsa. He took a step back when Q threw the stick, whistling softly at the arc. “You can throw better than I thought you would.”

“You build arm strength when you have to test weapons that are significantly heavier than yourself,” Q replied, watching as Winston crashed into Ilsa before trying to grab the branch from her mouth, starting an odd sort of tug-o-war between the two of them. “Are they always that energetic?” he asked after a moment.

“I was way over there when Winston first chased you,” Bond said, pointing to the entrance that was a ways from their current spot. “They’re energetic to the point that I can only let them loose late at night, where there are usually no people around,” he explained, watching Q blink in surprise.

“Oh God, my cat, Missy, is so bloody lazy in comparison,” Q said while backing away from Bond slightly, Winston nearly taking Bond’s knee out a moment later as he came running back with the branch from behind. “She sits, sleeps, and eats, which makes it easier to take care of her when I’m out at work, as horrible as that is to say,” he said, watching as Bond threw the branch again. “Not a big dog fan, though, she keeps trying to get at the one down the hall from us.”

“What about you?” Bond asked, glancing at Q.

“Haven’t had much exposure myself, but despite the initial knock-down, these two are starting to grow on me a bit,” he said, grinning slightly when both dogs crashed into another snowbank, this time in pursuit of an unlucky rabbit. “Are they going to catch it?” he asked after a moment.

Bond watched the rabbit easily crest the snowbank, tearing across the park as both dogs began barking and tore after the small animal. _I’ll either have a sulking duo tonight or be cleaning blood off of them. Lovely,_ he thought as he whistled for them, frowning when both dogs ignored him in favor of the hunt; although, he did know that they were used to hunting at their leisure back at Skyfall, and saw nothing wrong with continuing in their new home. “Fairly certain. Which means I’ll be cleaning them off before we head home,” he said, glancing at Q before turning back to the dogs. Without thinking, he reached over and wrapped an arm around Q’s shoulders in an attempt to quell the minute shivers from the other man.

A few seconds later, and Q finally relaxed in his grip, the two of them watching as mournful howls filled the night air and the rabbit escaped into its burrow, safe and unharmed.


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_Name: White. Affl: Quantum. Status: MIA_

Q made an incoherent noise in the back of his throat, staring at his computer screen with its cold white-and-black entries of the crimes against the individual known only as ‘Mr. White’. He could feel the bile rising in the back of his throat as he read the recorded crimes, the numerous warrants for his arrest, and his narrow escape from MI6 custody. “Oh God,” he murmured, his limbs going cold as he stared at the hauntingly familiar profile photograph, taken during White’s interrogation in 2007, only vaguely aware that his fingers were curling against the computer keys amongst a high pitched pulsating sound that one could interpret as a whine.

Looking around desperately for an empty rubbish bin—his was full, tomorrow was the day he was going to clean it—he clamped his mouth shut as he nearly tripped over himself to leave his office, sacrificing his dignity in the name of a clean desk. He made a vague swipe at R to get out of his way and managed to get to the rubbish bin underneath his workstation just time.

Awareness slowly crept back an indeterminable time later as he remained half-crouched behind the workstation, soft whispers swirling around him as he blinked fuzzily at the mess below him. His glasses were gone, and a firm yet familiar hand rubbed his back as he heard a familiar voice speaking quietly above him. He vaguely heard R’s reply—“…and he just came running out and got sick…”—before someone shifted behind him, and then James gently tugged him back up, turning him so that his back was to the branch.

“Just breathe, and wipe your mouth,” he said quietly, glancing to someone past Q’s shoulder. “R, you’re in charge until he’s ready to take over again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“James—James, stop, please, wait,” Q whispered, struggling weakly in James’s grip as James calmly but firmly turned Q around and allowed Q to rest his forehead against James’s chest. Q tried to keep talking, but fell silent when he felt the steady thrum of James’s heartbeat.  _I may not get to hear this again_ , he realized with a jolt; he knew of James’s personal and business history against Quantum. James would probably interpret Q’s mistake for the act of treason that it was, and Q did not want to witness the fall out. He took a shuddering breath, unable to block the black-and-white letters out from his memory. “James…James, let me go, I have to go talk to M,” he said, pushing James away, suddenly unable to look James in the eye.

“Q, what’s wrong?”

_M, I have to go to M to warn him._

Q dodged James’s hand with practiced ease, heading instead to his office and printing the offending pages from his printer. He turned around only to run straight into James, the agent catching his upper arms and gently pushing him back to the couch. “Q, talk to me, what’s wrong?” he asked, his gaze on Q, who turned his attention back to the pages in his hand. The paper crinkled in Q’s shaking hands, and only ceased when James pried the paper out of his hands. Q glanced up to find that his office door was closed— _there’s no way in hell that I will be able to get out without James stopping me, fuck_.

“Quantum? No one has heard from them in seven years,” James said after a moment, frowning as he set the paper aside. “What happened? Q, tell me what’s going on, how did you even find this?” he asked quietly

Q shook his head. “Looking up old records, that last cyber attack on MI6 seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place it,” he whispered, staring at the ground. James remained silent, but Q sensed the unspoken query, and plunged ahead. “Do you remember that program that Silva used, the failsafe that would erase the data if someone improperly accessed it?” he asked, looking up.

James nodded, but didn’t say anything, brow furrowed in concentration.

Q hesitated, and then shook his head. “It was back in 2008, I was working with four other people at the time on miscellaneous summer projects, just friends. I was home alone with my friend Evan when we heard knocking at our door, and it was… was him,” he explained, gesturing vaguely to the papers in James’s hands. “I thought we were about to get arrested. He introduced himself only as Jesper, and he had a commission request. Some idiot had recommended me as the best freelancer programmer to work with.”

“What did he want?” James asked, frowning as he took the newspaper again, studying the front page.

“He told me that he wanted something special to protect his data and himself from discovery from even the most persistent of agents and programmers, so I agreed, and spent almost two years developing an offset of the failsafe program. This time, instead of erasing the data, I designed the program to rewrite itself while re-routing the data to a more secure server, sending the hacker in circles in order to buy time for data storage before shutting the system down completely. Complex, but effective. I gave it to Jesper, he paid me, and that was the end of that. MI6 found me several months later,” Q said, voice cracking as he saw James study the sheet again.

“Q,” James began, but faltered. He shook his head and said, “Did you know he worked for Quantum, and that he’s a convicted criminal that I have spent years trying to track on the side?” he said quietly, looking up with an arched brow.

 _“No,_  I didn’t know anything at the time. This means that Quantum has  _my_  work, and I probably helped them kill people,” Q said, feeling the hysteria beginning to grow again. “Oh God, they  _did_  try to hack us with my code,  _that’s_ why it seemed familiar. Oh God, this is all my fault, I—”

“Is there a way to shut it all down?” James asked, setting the papers down.

“No, I mean, it’s uncommon to have a kill switch—”

He jumped when James clamped a hand over his mouth. “Did you know that White worked for Quantum when you sold him the program?” he asked coldly, scrutinizing Q carefully.

Q mutely shook his head.

“Very well,” James said grimly, letting him go. “Take the paper, and we’ll tell M right away. I suspect what may happen is that you and I will be sent out to dismantle the program, but just tell him what you told me,” he said, standing up and brushing himself off.

Q wordlessly took the papers, already feeling his composure slip— _how the fuck did I not make the connection sooner?—_ as he headed for the door, chest hurting. He paused at the door, and then murmured, “I’m sorry James, I didn’t know,” in a wobbly voice before opening the door to leave.

He nearly yelped when James caught his arm and pulled him back into a tight embrace, tucking Q’s head underneath his chin. “I won’t let them get you, hurt you, I won’t let them take you,” he murmured into Q’s hair, arms tightening around Q’s form.


	59. Chapter 59

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Major Character Death

He woke up with a sharp gasp, sitting straight up in bed.

For a moment, Bond stared at the dark wall on the other side of the bedroom, barely aware of the pattering rain against the window glass. Then he became aware of a warm small weight on his lap, and looked down in time to remember that he was home, in London, with Q’s faithful cat, Missy, sleeping on top of him. Oddly enough, his sudden movement hadn’t woken her up, and he felt cold and clammy as the last fingers of the nightmare slowly retreated from his memory.

_Something’s not right._

“James?”

He turned to look down at the blanket-covered lump beside him, relief washing away the terrors as he recognized Q’s messy hair resting on the pillow. “Q, thank God,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss the warm skin underneath Q’s ear.

“Nightmare?” Q asked sleepily as he turned to meet Bond’s kiss.

“Bad one. I thought I’d lost you,” Bond murmured, twisting to pull Q closer to him, kissing what skin he could reach. He entwined one hand in Q’s thick hair, forming a fist in the dark strands to hold Q still as he leaned forward for another deep kiss.

Q let out a soft laugh as he tried to wiggle free, squealing when Bond reached for his ticklish spots. “Stop, stop, _stop!”_ he gasped between laughs, writhing underneath Bond even as the agent carefully rested his weight down on Q and pinned him to the mattress. He groaned when he felt Q wrap his legs around Bond’s waist, and he gently thrust his hips to tease Q, earning a long groan in response and a fractional tightening of Q’s legs.

Bond pulled back to rest his forehead against Q’s, resting his weight on his elbows on the pillow Q rested on. Q loosened his legs, but reached up to loosely drape his arms around Bond. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly, hazel eyes alert despite the lack of glasses.

 _No, because I don’t want it to become a reality._ “I don’t want it to come back,” Bond said after a moment, a familiar ache already growing in his chest, as though he’d already lost Q. “I want you back, not the dream.”

Q smiled, moving his hands to gently frame Bond’s face. “I’m right here James, it’s all right,” he whispered, fingers gently running through Bond’s short blond hair. “I’m here as long as you want me to,” he said, smiling as Bond leaned forward to kiss him again. “No harm will come to me. Now go back to sleep, you need it after that long run in Central America,” he said, scrunching up his nose as Bond kissed the tip. “I’ll need to go through the bloody paperwork you racked up after getting into all that trouble with the CIA.”

“That was fun,” Bond said, lying down next to Q, watching as the other man turned on his side and scooted backwards so that Bond loosely spooned him from behind. He was quiet for a moment, limbs growing cold as he remembered the last time he had this exchange. “Could you not go into work tomorrow?” he whispered after a moment.

No reply.

Bond wasn’t expecting one.

_You had gone into work as usual, and went out to get lunch when an out-of-control driver struck you from the side. You didn’t make it to the hospital. I was so concerned about the threats beyond our borders that I didn’t think to protect you from the dangers in our backyard._

He didn’t have a sharp transition between dream— _memory_ —and wakefulness as he’d experienced in the half-dream, half-memory. He stared at the empty, cold spot on the bed next to him; he hadn’t left Q’s flat after the freak accident. Missy lay curled up in the curve of his body, head still resting on her paws but watchful eyes studying him.

_It’s been a month, Q, and I cannot let you go._

Grunting, he rolled out of bed and moved off in search of something strong to drink to fill the empty, cold spot in his chest. He was pulling the lid off when he imagined something light brush the back of his neck, but instead of alarm, he felt only a momentary sense of quiet peace that he _knew_ would continue to elude him indefinitely.

_I’m here as long as you want me to._


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“James, James, _wait!_ ”

Q laughed when James deposited him onto the four-poster bed in the Italian villa that they’d rented for the next two weeks for a long overdue honeymoon. He could feel the cool sea air brushing against his face as he reached out and wrapped his arms around James’s neck, bringing the agent down with him. “Don’t squish— _stop,_ I’m ticklish there,” he protested, trying to wiggle free with a laugh when he felt James’s grin against his neck seconds before the agent reached down and pushed the hem of his shirt up, kissing and gently biting exposed skin.

“If you didn’t want me to tickle you there, you shouldn’t have said something,” James said, looking up briefly to meet Q’s eyes. Q smiled softly in reply, reaching forward to brush his fingers through James’s short hair, closing his eyes when James twisted his head to kiss a palm.

“We did it James, we finally got some time to ourselves. No work except for dire emergencies,” he whispered as James pulled away, moving to stand on his knees while he pulled the suit jacket off and threw it to the side before leaning forward for another kiss. “It only took us almost a year but we did it,” he murmured before capturing the kiss, groaning when he felt James’s hands run up his torso and chest, the metal of James’s ring cold against Q’s skin, causing him to squirm a bit again as his breath hitched. “Harder,” he whispered as he leaned his head back to allow James more access to his neck.

“With _pleasure_ ,” James growled, his hands reaching for Q’s flies as he leaned forward for another kiss. Q grinned as he held James close, not bothering to stifle a moan as he squirmed against the comfortable weight of James’s body, his glasses sliding off his face as he met James for the first thrust of hips, creating warm friction that left Q panting, fingers scrabbling across James’s clothed back as they both tried to tug at clothes without breaking the kiss.

_“_ _Dov’è la spia inglese?”_

_“Non so, il capo ha detto che c’erano due uomini in questa casa.”_

Even before the second speaker was finished, voices muffled behind the closed bedroom door, James rolled off Q towards where they’d left their suitcases, leaving Q disoriented as James’s body heat abruptly disappeared. Scrabbling for the duvet, he started to move until James moved back onto the bed, placing himself between Q and the door as he switched the Walther’s safety off.

“Just once. Just once I’d like to have a honeymoon where someone decides to leave us alone for the entire time,” Q grumbled under his breath as they listened to two sets of footsteps pattering about in the other room, objects creaking as they heard the intruders peering into rooms and chests. “We haven’t been here for even an hour, forty minutes to be precise,” he added, checking the bedside clock.

“At least we haven’t started anything this time,” James murmured back as he adjusted his shirt, glancing towards the glass doors that led to the balcony. “If they start firing, get out of here and to the nearest Six safe house, I had to assure M that you wouldn’t be under threat after Santorini.”

“Honestly, I think they’re after you now. And I had happily forgotten about Santorini until you mentioned it just now,” Q muttered, face burning red as he leaned over the side of the bed while still remaining behind James, tensed to run at a moment’s notice. _Seventh attempt in ten months, Eve will laugh herself to tears when she hears about this,_ he thought crossly as he made sure his mobile was still in his pocket. He could now hear the men getting closer, the two of them still chatting at normal volume as they moved through the rooms and down the hall to the bedroom. “They’re not even trying,” he said after a moment, glancing at James, who shrugged.

“Then they’re either amateurs or regular thieves,” James murmured back, checking the chamber before raising the gun again.

Q almost pointed out that they’d specifically said ‘English spy’, which could mean either Q or James, but at that moment, the bedroom doorknob rattled a moment before turning.

Two men stared at them, clearly surprised to see Q and James. Q had the momentary concern that he and James had entered the wrong villa, but then remembered that for one, they had keys and two, both intruders carried guns of their owns. For a moment, nobody spoke as the two men looked between Q and James before the man in front finally spotted the Walther that James had aimed at them. Q noticed that they both carried shoulder patch insignias of falcons in flight with a branch in their claws— _local group then, I think, if I remember the database correctly._

“ _Buongiorno_ ,” James said pleasantly before firing twice.

The first man went down almost instantly with a bullet to the collarbone; the other turned and ran, ducking in time for the second bullet to dig itself into the wall overhead. Q heard the front door slam closed a few minutes later, glass tinkling as it fell from the window. Then he turned his attention to the first man lying on the floor as James got off the bed and walked over, looking down at the man as he casually aimed his gun. “Now,” James said pleasantly as Q fixed himself up underneath the duvet before getting out of bed. “Who hired you and why?”

“I’ll be in the living room if you need me, I’m going to get Eve on the line and update her on what just happened,” Q said tiredly, stopping briefly to kiss James on the cheek. “I’ll also boost our security,” he muttered before stepping over the injured man and heading into the living room.

_Two quiet weeks. Is that really too much to ask for?_


	61. Chapter 61

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Discussions of on-comms death.

At first, Bond couldn’t pinpoint what woke him up.

The warm weight against his stomach told him that Q was still asleep and curled up against him, the muted purrs indicated that Missy was somewhat awake, and he couldn’t detect any movement in the shadows. Q had returned home early that day, worn out from handling a six-day mission to Mexico, and hadn’t spoken much before eating some dinner and crashing on the bed. No alarms were activated, so there were no intruders, and the clock on the bedside table read 02:30 in glowing green numbers. For a moment, he remained absolutely still, carefully trying to detect what woke him up.

Then he sensed the minute shaking against his stomach, and finally heard the soft sniffling.

With a soft sigh, he carefully leaned forward to nuzzle against the back of Q’s neck, resting his head so that he could run his nose through the soft curls. He rested a hand on Q’s shoulder, rubbing it slightly as he waited for Q to decide whether to keep feigning sleep or talk to him. Since Q had only been Quartermaster for only a year and a half, Bond could only imagine what happened; he figured that Q would have seen it all by now.

“We lost an agent today. Heard it over the comms. It wasn’t quick.”

Bond blinked, nearly having missed Q’s soft voice. “And you turned off the external speakers so that only you could hear it through your headphones,” he murmured into the back of Q’s neck, leaning forward to kiss the top vertebrae.

“It’s standard procedure. Some agents don’t want a whole audience to their death, but don’t want to be entirely alone when they die,” Q said quietly as Bond’s fingers skirted down his side, running soothingly down his torso before slipping underneath the hem of his T-shirt before gently running back up warm skin to rest on his ribs.

“And that was your first on-comm death?” Bond probed, scooting forward to gently run light kisses in the crook of Q’s neck.

“Yes and no.” Q was quiet for a few minutes, leaving Bond to silently ponder the answer. He sighed and began to retract his hand when he realized that Q may have fallen asleep, but stopped when Q said, “It’s not my first on-comm death since taking this job, but my first since I started dating you.”

“All I could think, once I disconnected the line, was what if that was you? What if it’s you that I hear dying next?” Q asked, twisting around to face Bond, ignoring Missy’s yowl of indignation as he propped himself up on both elbows to better see Bond. He hesitated, and then whispered, “I don’t know if I could shut the line off even if you ordered me to.”

Wordlessly, Bond reached up and gently brushed away the tears that lingered on Q’s skin. “I won’t tell you what to do when the time comes,” he said quietly, watching Q intently, catching a tear before it could fall with a gentle thumb. “Chances are likely that I won’t go slowly, given how much I enjoy blowing things up,” he said, ignoring the strangled sound from the back of Q’s throat, “But all I ask is that if I do, and you choose to remain on the line, then you keep talking to me like nothing happened, understand? Just say anything to take our minds off of it. Do you understand?”

Q stared at him before nodding slowly, allowing Bond to pull him down and turn them over so that he was on top of Q. He leaned forward for a kiss, and remained obediently still when Q reached up and clasped him tightly. “If it’s any comfort, I promise to do my utmost best and not die on the field,” he whispered before meeting Q for another light kiss.

“Please,” Q murmured, nuzzling him gently.


	62. Chapter 62

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“James…I can’t walk, my leg—”

“Then I’ll carry you.” Before Q could protest, James knelt and scooped him up from the front so that Q leaned against his shoulders as his legs, one of them dangling uselessly, tried to wrap around James’s waist. James calmly lifted the broken one, earning a faint hiss of pain even as Q struggled to get a better grip. “Try not to squirm so much, I don’t want to drop you, especially if I have to run,” James warned. “Watch my back, please, and at least alert me if there are attackers approaching from behind.”

“I always watch your back,” Q said indignantly, leaning back to scowl at James.

 _“Focus_ , please.”

Q tightened his grip right as James began walking at a brisk pace, his Walther in one hand and the other keeping Q’s injured leg against his side. Resting a chin on James’s shoulder, Q flattened himself in an attempt to make himself as small as possible as to not hinder James so much as he was doing already. Every movement jostled Q, little sparks of pain from numerous minor injuries littered across his body. James kept an even pace, moving with deliberate slowness as he readjusted his grip on Q before checking around a corner.

“Q?”

“Mm?”

“Stay awake.”

Q rolled his eyes, but obeyed, staring deliberately at the door he’d chosen for his fixed point. He tried to focus on keeping his hold on James’s neck, but found himself slipping as he momentarily forgot about his legs. Trying to catch his breath, he turned his head slightly so that he could whisper into James’s ear, “James, I can’t hold on for much long—”

He stopped when he saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, and then without thinking, leaned back, forcing James to stop and reach out to catch his back. Ignoring James’s inevitable question, he reached into James’s suit jacket for the shoulder holster. Fingers curling around the Walther, he pulled the gun out and aimed it past James’s left ear and squeezed off two shots before the agent could react. The first went wide while the second caught the would-be ambusher in the stomach, and James turned in time to see the man go down as a second one showed up.

 _“Fuck_ ,” he murmured as Q fired a third time, and James took the gun as Q felt his energy promptly vanished. Q draped himself around James’s shoulder as the agent turned to face the growing number of guards, one of the agent’s hands resting over Q’s back where his heart would be. Q rested his chin on James’s shoulder, already reaching for one of the pouches of extra ammunition that James had evidently picked up somewhere. “Q, there’s an extra gun in the holster to the right. Your right,” James said when Q passed the extra ammunition to him.

Q found the pistol in time for two more guards to appear to James’s back—Q’s front. Heart thudding in his chest as he recalled the few tips James had offered during marksmanship practice, he raised the pistol and fired at each shadow that attempted to shoot James in the back. James kept his own attention and weapon focused on the threats in front of him.

He didn’t realize that the threat was over until he felt a soothing hand rubbing his back, and that he was lying curled up on top of James as the agent murmured something soft in his hear while prying the gun out of his fingertips. “Q, it’s okay, it’s okay Alex, we’re safe again,” James murmured before kissing him gently. “We can rest, I’ve sent the distress signal, you’re safe again.”

“Sure?” Q felt numb, but put it down to the high adrenaline of the fight.

He felt rather than saw James’s smile. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Good. And you have your weapons. See James? It’s _perfectly_ possible to fight _and_ bring back yourself and your fucking equipment back in one piece!” Q snapped despite the aching pain his lower ribs.

James stared at him for a split second before he started laughing, taking a few years of grief off his face. Q wondered if he had looked this unguarded ever since defeating Quantum. “It’s not funny!” he snapped without any vitriol, trying to appear as though he was salvaging his dignity without taking away James’s amusement at the lecture.

“Whatever you say, Quartermaster, whatever you say,” James replied as he gently nudged Q to lie down against his chest. “Just rest, until rescue comes.”

Q nodded, and tried to sleep despite the growing pain.


	63. Chapter 63

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_“Aaaaa—James fucking Bond!”_

Bond laughed as Q thrashed in his grip seconds before the two of them crashed into the wall in the corridor leading to Q-Branch, Bond unable to arrest his own momentum in time to avoid the wall. He quickly managed to twist the two of them around, so that he took the brunt of the collision while Q clutched onto his shoulders, his papers fluttering in a white cloud around the two of them. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, Q still wide-eyed as he looked around the two of them. “The opportunity presented itself, and I couldn’t let it go,” Bond said, rubbing Q’s back as though soothing a skittish creature.

“I— _fuck,_ James, I missed you too and I’m glad to see you again, but why can’t you be like normal agents and just walk into Q-Branch with whatever is left of your equipment instead of scaring me into next week?” Q asked, scowling before Bond leaned forward and bumped foreheads with him, earning a tap to the nose in response when he pulled away to see Q better. “You _did_ bring something back of your equipment, right?”

“Normal is boring, and I’m personally happy that I don’t have to go to Medical,” he replied instead, smirking before smoothly turning Q so that the quartermaster was gently pinned against the wall. Bond carefully kept his arms loose as he placed his hands on either side of Q’s shoulders. “And as I said, the opportunity presented itself. I was home, you were distracted with something that I am evidently going to help fix later,” he said, glancing down at the papers on the floor around them. “As for your equipment, well, how about I make up for the damaged pieces, in full,” he suggested, smirking as he slid his hands underneath Q’s cardigan and shirt to rest on Q’s waist.

“Must have been a serious amount of damage,” Q remarked, raising a brow when Bond slipped his fingers underneath his trousers and lightly tugged on his pants. “Not in the _hall_ , Bond, and in the middle of broad daylight,” he scolded as Bond reluctantly moved his hands back up to rest just underneath his ribcage. “But you may start with a kiss right now,” he said, grinning when Bond straightened with anticipation.

“Thank you,” Bond murmured, resting his forehead against Q’s as he grinned, heart fluttering slightly when Q smiled before ducking his head slightly. “Now, now, don’t be shy now,” he whispered, running a thumb against Q’s cheek as he watched a lovely flush steal across the skin. Q’s eyelids fluttered closed as Bond leaned closer, and he tilted his head up to meet Bond.

_Q, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me._

With practiced ease, he slid his hands up Q’s torso, ghosting across his ribs before targeting the known ticklish spots just below the underarms.

“ _JAMES!_ ”

Bond laughed, ears ringing slightly from the screech as he stumbled when he tried to yank himself free. Q, however, drew his arms in and trapped Bond’s hands with his elbows, jerking forward when Bond stumbled backwards. _Fucking papers_ , Bond thought seconds before he slipped and fell back, Q squealing as he went down after him. “ _Oof!_ ” Bond groaned as Q landed on top of him, the agent’s training being the only factor keeping him from hitting his head on the ground. He blinked as Q crawled forward so that they were face-to-face with each other, Q propping himself up with his hands on either side of Bond’s head with a grin. “Well,” Bond said after a moment, “That was a spectacular backfire.”

“Moron. Still your fault,” Q chided as he leaned down for a real kiss, Bond groaning underneath him before reaching up to wrap his arms around Q’s waist, holding him there with one hand as he wrapped the other in Q’s curls. Q tugged away a moment later, but remained resting on Bond, watching him in silence for a few minutes. “You know, we should probably clean this up before we scar Mallory for life,” he said, shifting his weight so that he could rest his chin on folded hands, on top of Bond’s chest.

“He already knows we’re together,” Bond pointed out, frowning.

“Yes, well, I’m sure that since we’re covered in papers, he can’t tell that we’re dressed while in this compromising position, and I honestly don’t want to know what happens if he thinks that we’re, er, doing things here that we really shouldn’t,” Q said, voice trailing off into a mumble as he scratched the back of his head.

“All right, help me up and I’ll help you get your papers back in order.”

Q rolled off with a grunt, and Bond sat up as well, stretching his spine before moving to stand up. “Lazy,” he remarked as he leaned over and pulled Q up into a standing position.

Q kissed him lightly. “I’m always lazy when it comes to you,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily as Bond kissed his nose. “But I can’t bloody help but get lazy when you’re around because you are a wonderful distraction when you put your mind and your hands to it,” he half-heartedly complained as Bond tilted his head to kiss the underside of his jaw before retreating to start picking up the papers.

“Whatever you say, my dear Quartermaster.”


	64. Chapter 64

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Hello, I’d like to reserve a room for a week.”

“One moment, please,” the hotel receptionist said before she turned to her computer, leaving Q to shift his heavy bag to the other shoulder as he waited patiently for her to pull up the information on room availability. _Hopefully my teams can gimmick the system before she gets in_ , he thought, glancing around the hotel lobby, the air cooler inside than the Athens summer night outside. He turned back to the receptionist as she finally straightened in her seat and said, “That’s odd…” She quickly shook her head, offering Q a professional smile. “There’s an available room on the fifth floor, Room 504. I trust that will be enough?”

 _The room across the hall from James’s own._ Q smiled and said, “Thank you, that will be excellent.” He reached over for the paperwork, quietly signing everything with his cover name before handing the papers back in exchange for the room keys, keeping the tourist brochure when she pushed it back to him. He then readjusted the bag on his shoulder before he nodded to her and said, “Thank you for your help, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome. Enjoy your stay here with us in Athens,” she said before going back to her own work.

Q waited until he was in the lifts, managing to secure his own car before tapping the earpiece that he had hidden with his curls. “All right, I know James has a blown knee, but I wouldn’t put it past him to keep going with the mission, including the seduction of the crime boss’s wife for information. Please tell me you have some way of verifying that he’s alone in his room right now or if I should just go to my own room and wait,” he muttered, dropping the bag to the floor to check that the contents were still intact. “I won’t mind waiting, I’m exhausted as it is.”

 _“No, he’s alone, he kind of slunk off when the injury happened and he’s remained there ever since_. _The crime boss is starting to question his disappearance, which could be good or bad,_ ” R murmured into the link as Q zipped the bag up again.

“Let’s call it ‘good’ just for my peace of mind right now, but double-check that the crime boss isn’t on to us yet,” Q muttered as the lift _pinged_ , signaling his arrival. “Signing off now,” he said, hoisting the bag yet again and stepping off the lifts. “Good night, R.”

_“Good night, sir.”_

Q shifted the bag to pull his earpiece out and switch it off, easily locating his room a few seconds later. Instead of going inside, however, he went across the hall and pulled out a small device that he’d constructed to interrupt electronic signals, short-circuiting the device in question. His mouth twitched when he heard the faint _click_ of the hotel door’s lock disengaging, and he used an elbow to open the door, shifting the bag to cover his torso as he walked into the darkened hotel room. “The entire way here, I was wondering what part of your ego led you to blowing your knee out,” he said without preamble, using a foot to shut the door as he saw a dark shape move on the bed, reaching for the bedside table lamp. “Then I realized it was probably par on the course for you.”

“Q? What the _hell_ are you doing here?” James growled as he switched the light on and set his (partially loaded) Walther on the table. Q frowned as he looked at James, noting the lines around the man’s mouth as the agent flopped back on the bed, wearing only sweatpants with legs extended on top of the duvet. Blue eyes narrowed as Q set the duffel on the floor, and then James asked, “What the hell is _that_?”

“Medical supplies and an instruction booklet. Ever since we married, O’Reilly got this impression that you listen to me more often than you listen to him, so he decided to throw me to your tender mercies when it became apparent that you needed medical attention,” Q said, grinning when James groaned and lay flat on the bed. “All kidding aside, M is considering pulling you out if it looks like you can’t be healed in time for the gala,” he said, draping his coat on the chair before walking over to turn on the light switch. “The reason M hesitates sending a med team is because you were careful enough to hide the injury, and the crime boss seems enamored enough of you to insist that you use his own med team…the same people _we_ suspect are killing the boss’s enemies that happen to pass through their care.”

“I see.” James remained quiet as Q gathered a few supplies and set them near the foot of the bed. “It’s the right one,” he said after a moment, shifting position to move his left leg out of the way. Q sat on the edge of the bed and rested James’s foot on his lap before gingerly pulling the sweatpants leg up, scooting along with the fabric until he had the exposed knee sitting on his lap.

“I suspect you tore something,” Q said, frowning as he gently probed the area with light fingers. James, ever the stubborn one, remained silent even though he shifted under Q’s touch.

Q started to reach to the left for the medical supplies, but nearly jumped when he felt James rest a hand on his shoulder and use him as a brace to pull himself into a sitting position. He turned, smirking and leaning in for a kiss when James wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him closer. He tasted hunger and an edge of desperation as the kiss slowly became more demanding, James going as far as to gently bite the edge of his lower lip before pushing in, eliciting a groan as Q felt familiar heat he hadn’t experienced in weeks. “James—James, I still have to treat you,” he said, closing his eyes and obediently leaning back to give James access to his neck.

“Five more minutes.”

“Fine, five more minutes. Neither of us leaves this position. Do anything to upset the knee, or if I hear a whimper, I go straight back to treating you,” Q warned, running his fingers through James’s short hair before resting behind his neck. “And I can stay here, if you want me to. Otherwise, I’ll be in the room across the hall,” he murmured before James captured his mouth again.

James’s reply was a whisper that Q almost missed, breathed into his ear as the agent nuzzled through his curls.

 _“Please stay._ ”


	65. Chapter 65

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_“Aaaaa—James fucking Bond!”_

Bond laughed as Q thrashed in his grip seconds before the two of them crashed into the wall in the corridor leading to Q-Branch, Bond unable to arrest his own momentum in time to avoid the wall. He quickly managed to twist the two of them around, so that he took the brunt of the collision while Q clutched onto his shoulders, his papers fluttering in a white cloud around the two of them. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, Q still wide-eyed as he looked around the two of them. “The opportunity presented itself, and I couldn’t let it go,” Bond said, rubbing Q’s back as though soothing a skittish creature.

“I— _fuck,_ James, I missed you too and I’m glad to see you again, but why can’t you be like normal agents and just walk into Q-Branch with whatever is left of your equipment instead of scaring me into next week?” Q asked, scowling before Bond leaned forward and bumped foreheads with him, earning a tap to the nose in response when he pulled away to see Q better. “You _did_ bring something back of your equipment, right?”

“Normal is boring, and I’m personally happy that I don’t have to go to Medical,” he replied instead, smirking before smoothly turning Q so that the quartermaster was gently pinned against the wall. Bond carefully kept his arms loose as he placed his hands on either side of Q’s shoulders. “And as I said, the opportunity presented itself. I was home, you were distracted with something that I am evidently going to help fix later,” he said, glancing down at the papers on the floor around them. “As for your equipment, well, how about I make up for the damaged pieces, in full,” he suggested, smirking as he slid his hands underneath Q’s cardigan and shirt to rest on Q’s waist. 

“Must have been a serious amount of damage,” Q remarked, raising a brow when Bond slipped his fingers underneath his trousers and lightly tugged on his pants. “Not in the _hall_ , Bond, and in the middle of broad daylight,” he scolded as Bond reluctantly moved his hands back up to rest just underneath his ribcage. “But you may start with a kiss right now,” he said, grinning when Bond straightened with anticipation.

“Thank you,” Bond murmured, resting his forehead against Q’s as he grinned, heart fluttering slightly when Q smiled before ducking his head slightly. “Now, now, don’t be shy now,” he whispered, running a thumb against Q’s cheek as he watched a lovely flush steal across the skin. Q’s eyelids fluttered closed as Bond leaned closer, and he tilted his head up to meet Bond.

_Q, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me._

With practiced ease, he slid his hands up Q’s torso, ghosting across his ribs before targeting the known ticklish spots just below the underarms.

“ _JAMES!_ ”

Bond laughed, ears ringing slightly from the screech as he stumbled when he tried to yank himself free. Q, however, drew his arms in and trapped Bond’s hands with his elbows, jerking forward when Bond stumbled backwards. _Fucking papers_ , Bond thought seconds before he slipped and fell back, Q squealing as he went down after him. “ _Oof!_ ” Bond groaned as Q landed on top of him, the agent’s training being the only factor keeping him from hitting his head on the ground. He blinked as Q crawled forward so that they were face-to-face with each other, Q propping himself up with his hands on either side of Bond’s head with a grin. “Well,” Bond said after a moment, “That was a spectacular backfire.”

“Moron. Still your fault,” Q chided as he leaned down for a real kiss, Bond groaning underneath him before reaching up to wrap his arms around Q’s waist, holding him there with one hand as he wrapped the other in Q’s curls. Q tugged away a moment later, but remained resting on Bond, watching him in silence for a few minutes. “You know, we should probably clean this up before we scar Mallory for life,” he said, shifting his weight so that he could rest his chin on folded hands, on top of Bond’s chest.

“He already knows we’re together,” Bond pointed out, frowning.

“Yes, well, I’m sure that since we’re covered in papers, he can’t tell that we’re dressed while in this compromising position, and I honestly don’t want to know what happens if he thinks that we’re, er, doing things here that we really shouldn’t,” Q said, voice trailing off into a mumble as he scratched the back of his head.

“All right, help me up and I’ll help you get your papers back in order.”

Q rolled off with a grunt, and Bond sat up as well, stretching his spine before moving to stand up. “Lazy,” he remarked as he leaned over and pulled Q up into a standing position.

Q kissed him lightly. “I’m always lazy when it comes to you,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily as Bond kissed his nose. “But I can’t bloody help but get lazy when you’re around because you are a wonderful distraction when you put your mind and your hands to it,” he half-heartedly complained as Bond tilted his head to kiss the underside of his jaw before retreating to start picking up the papers.

“Whatever you say, my dear Quartermaster.”


	66. Chapter 66

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“So let me get this straight. We’re supposed to be pretending to be married?”

James nodded, mouth set in a grim line as he set their bags down on the ground near the small dining table in their hotel suite. Q sighed, setting his own small travel case down next to the bedside table on his side of the bed—always the one farthest from the door—before flopping down on the bedspread. He then rolled onto his stomach, watching James perform the tertiary sweep of the room as he tried not to wrinkle his nose in irritation. “Are you insulting my ability to be thorough, double-oh seven? I checked through this room twice now, _after_ changing our reservations for the sixth time before departure,” he said, scowling when James ignored him.

“Doesn’t hurt to be extra careful,” James said, checking the bathroom one more time before coming out and checking the bed headboard. He then sat down, leaning over briefly to pick up the thick file and packet that R had assembled the night before. “I suppose we should go over our cover stories, figure out what Lefévre expects of us and what image we should be presenting,” he said, spreading the papers before stretching his legs, twisting his torso slightly to better read the brief. Q sighed, and then sat back up, moving to sit cross-legged on the duvet across from the agent. _This is going to be painful_.

Oblivious to Q’s thoughts, James continued going through the information. “Our cover names are Riley and Thomas Wakefield, you being Riley and me being Thomas,” he said, handing Q a passport that had already had the appropriate stamps. “We met at an international economics conference, and I convinced you to apply to the IT Department at Universal Exports.”

“With all due respect, that actually sounds more interesting than meeting in an art gallery, at least there would be free food involved,” Q said, closing the passport and setting it aside.

“Well, you didn’t _have_ to pick the National Gallery,” James said, arching a brow.

“Tanner’s idea, he was trying to cheer me up because honestly, I was fucking terrified of you,” Q said bluntly, shrugging with one shoulder when James set the papers down. “I was scared, and he said it would be downright hilarious to meet in Room Forty-two. If I had known he was setting me up to stick my foot into my mouth, I probably would have picked a different location, like the Tower of London. Plenty of tourists, outside, I wouldn’t have stuck out quite as much…” he waved the rest of his sentence off with a hand. “Dare I ask who proposed and how?”

“Well, after three wonderful years together, you finally proposed in a helicopter of all places, we were doing an aerial tour of New York City,” James said, grinning as Q snatched the paper from him to study the text. “And here I thought I did a better job on that Mediterranean cruise after three years together,” he said, laughing when Q threw the paper at him. 

“Who the _fuck_ wrote this?” Q demanded, snatching the next sheet. “And Athens? We didn’t get to stay in Athens for our honeymoon because someone tried to fucking _shoot_ us!” he said, not bothering to release the paper when James tried to gently tug it free again. “And over-the-top PDA? I don’t do that, James, you _know_ I don’t do—”

“I know, Q, but I think that the point here is that we have to make it clear to Lefévre that we’re hopelessly in love,” James said, grinning as he set the papers down and turned around, crawling towards Q with a familiar predatory expression, one that had Q grinning even as he started to back away, twisting to back into the headboard. He swallowed as James stalked closer, shuddering slightly as James placed his hands on either side of him and leaned in close. “See, in order to pull the mission off, we cannot leave any doubt. Just kisses, that would be the most extreme PDA we have to do, I promise it won’t go any farther than that,” James said, the playfulness melting from his features for a split second, replaced with a familiar concern.

Q smiled softly, reaching out tuck a few strands of ruffled short blond hair back into place. “We don’t know what the mission may ask of us,” he pointed out, allowing James to move closer and lie down, the agent’s head resting in his lap. “And we can’t afford to blow this one just because I was uncomfortable,” he said, voice wavering despite his efforts to keep it steady as he gently ran his fingers through James’s hair. The agent closed his eyes under Q’s ministrations, heaving a sigh as he adjusted himself to get more comfortable.

“I told Mallory that I didn’t feel comfortable with the cover story,” James said after a moment, Q pausing as he leaned over the agent for a better look. “I tried my damnedest to get you out of it so that you wouldn’t feel pressured into something you weren’t comfortable with,” he said quietly, his hand reaching up to claim Q’s free hand. “He said that you were professional enough to handle a fake marriage with me.”

“Especially since I obviously can handle a _real_ one with you,” Q said, grinning as he ran a thumb over James’s ring finger, feeling skin instead of the metal. He’d left his own wedding ring back home, as ordered, to maintain the fiction of being married to James, and James’s ring remained in a fireproof safety box that Q left in their flat. Plain bands had been procured as part of the disguise, but he had yet to find them in their supplies. “We’ve done missions before, I’ve been to the front lines before, and we’ll _both_ come home alive after this one,” he said, going back to stroking James’s hair. “And then we’ll go somewhere for a long weekend, just to celebrate and because we can,” he said, his heart lifting when he saw a smile creeping across James’s face.

“Maybe we should also tell M that we’ve been married already for two years now, to avoid a repeat of this happening,” he said, glancing at Q for a moment, raising a brow when Q shook his head.

“Honestly, I want to see how long we can go before he notices if he hasn’t already. He’s the director of MI6, he should be on top of these things,” Q said, grinning as he leaned down for another kiss before relaxing again, watching as James’s eyes fluttered closed again.

_Let him rest, the mission will still be here when he wakes up._


	67. Chapter 67

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Major Character Death

Bond woke to something batting his nose.

“Q, your cat wants her food,” he grumbled, rolling over to face away from Missy, who let out a soft _mraow_ before climbing onto his side, claws sinking through fabric and blankets as she pulled herself up and settled on his side. He growled when she stuck her cold nose into his ear, and tried to twist around to push her off when she began licking him. “Q, your bloody cat wants to eat and I want to sleep, I just got back from Cairo,” he snapped, turning over to lie on his stomach so that he could better bury his head underneath his pillow and hopefully ease his splitting headache. For a moment, there was silence, and then Bond groaned in defeat when he felt the familiar cold nose touch his cheek as Missy squeezed underneath his pillow. “Q,” he said, closing his eyes in final defeat as he sat up, Missy mewling again. “Are you all—”

He stopped when he saw the empty side of the bed, the sheets still made with sharp corners and clean linen.

_Q never came home from Cairo._

Bond stared at the empty sheets, growing cold with a dully familiar aching in his heart as he remembered Q’s panicked expression, the whispered ‘ _I’m sorry’_ seconds before he caught Bond off guard and shoved the agent out of the fifth storey window. A horrendous blast destroyed the building only a few seconds later as Q apparently managed to beat back his opponent long enough for the detonation code to stick. Bond still carried the scars on his hands from where he’d grabbed still-glowing chunks of metal and twisted pipes in his desperate search for Q, fading marks on his torso from where several MI6 agents had tried to pull him back before someone whacked him in the back of the head. The raw pain, when he woke up in Medical to find Q’s cracked glasses on the bedside table, had tasted bitter in his mouth and throat, something that no alcohol could chase away even though he’d tried for months.

_It should have been me, Q, I had the strength to fight back. You should have lived, you had more time. You took my reason to live to the grave, and I can’t decide if I hate you for that._

“Mraow?”

“Right, food. Let’s go,” he muttered, rubbing his temples as he got out of bed, Missy taking a running start before she leapt to the floor and ran out of the bedroom. As much as he’d hated the cat in the past, Bond refused to give her up at the last second. He’d then asked Eve if she could be the cat sitter for while Bond was gone, but he had not left London since returning from Cairo, something about Psych fearing for his mental stability. Miller had been the first to admit that while he still didn’t know the depth of their relationship, he did understand the need for closure.

_Especially since they never found his body, and M won’t allow me going back for it._

He’d discreetly checked the blast site last night, the first time in three months since Q died. Scavengers were still in the throes of going through the debris, leaving Bond with a sour taste in the back of his mouth as he recalled the cherished gadgets—laptop, watch, mobile—that Q had always carried around with him, something a scavenger would undoubtedly take to sell later. He’d gone to drink afterwards, leading to the headache that pounded behind his temples even now as he stumbled towards the kitchen to find Missy’s food.

He unplugged his mobile from the charger and powered up the device before reaching up for her food bin in the upper cabinets. Pulling off the lid, he scooped food into her dish and set it on the counter, Missy’s collar bell tinkling as she jumped onto the counter. Q would have had his head if he’d known Bond allowed her up there, but sitting at the counter alone had started to wear Bond down after the first few weeks of solitude.

_Beep!_

Bond frowned, looking down at his mobile to find a notification of a missed call from an blocked number sitting on the lock screen, from about six hours ago. He tilted his head as a second notification appeared a moment later, indicating a voicemail, and tapped the banner to start the message. He heard the familiar _click_ of the mobile connecting to voicemail as he paused with a spoonful of Missy’s food in hand, suddenly curious and wary as to how a complete stranger got a theoretically secret number.

_“Hi James, it’s me. I wanted to let you know that I’ll be at the rendezvous in ten minutes, there’s been a bit of a comp—*cough* *cough* complication at the train station so I’m sorry for being late. I left my jacket at the hotel, so I’ll be the one in red. See you in ten.”_ _Click_.

_Thunk!_

Bond didn’t even realize that he’d dropped the spoon onto the counter, sending cat food flying across the counter as Q’s voice—tired, suppressed, but undeniably _his_ —echoed from the mobile’s speaker. He heard Missy’s faint yowl as she jumped down and darted away from the kitchenette, mewling in protest as Bond picked up the mobile, scrolling through his list of missed calls to find the time stamp— _six hours ago._ Swallowing the bile back, he calmly stared at the blocked number in contemplation, trying to swallow back the slowly rising anger.

_How did they know what Q’s last voicemail to me was?_

* * *

“Here, give me your mobile, double-oh seven.”

Bond handed his mobile over to Marcela—he couldn’t think of her as ‘R’ quite yet, not when there was a chance that Q was still alive—and watched as she plugged the device into her computer and pulled up the log of recent calls. Around the two of them, the Q-Branch night staff moved about in their usual routines, somewhat mechanic given that a few were still adjusting to having a woman in charge. “They haven’t been giving you trouble recently, have they?” he asked quietly after a few minutes, watching the corner of her mouth twitch as he spoke. _No doubt she’s recalling the same incident I am, when I had to straighten a few squabbling troublemakers out._

It had been more of Bond intimidating the staff into submission instead of ‘helping’ bring the quarreling techs back in line; he’d wanted to find Q and was running on adrenaline, hampered by stress and grief, and the techs kept deliberately ignoring Marcela’s attempts at running the branch. Either way, Bond hadn’t heard a squeak from the night staff since then.

“Well, given that you hang out here more often than during the day, they’re less likely to act up while you’re here,” she said quietly, typing a few keys and locating the phone call in question. “Let’s see…almost twenty-four hours ago, you received the blocked call, that’s the one with the message on it, right?”

“That’s correct, it’s the same message from the same person that I had received while in Cairo about ten to fifteen minutes before Q met me at the rendezvous,” Bond said, closing his eyes when he felt an echo of that _relief_ when he’d finally spotted Q across the street, trying to discreetly shake off his pursuers. “I have both messages saved, if you want to listen.”

“Do you remember the time stamp for the first one?” R asked, typing in a few commands. Bond watched as the most recent call, with the blocked number, was highlighted before Marcela shifted the window to the attached second monitor, turning her attention back to the main log.

“July 16th, twelve hundred hours. I remember thinking how bloody hot it was and worrying that Q would get a sunburn,” he immediately replied, slowly breathing through his nose to control the twist of buried grief in his heart. _How is it that I got so attached to him that it hurts when I’m trying to bloody move on months later?_

“All right.” She typed in a few commands, bringing up the incoming call and then pressing a command for the message, prompting Q’s voice to flood her speakers and startle a few technicians sitting near the two of them.

_“Hi James, it’s me. I wanted to let you know that I’ll be at the rendezvous in ten minutes, there’s been a bit of a complication at the train station so I’m sorry for being late. I left my jacket at the hotel, so I’ll be the one in red. See you in ten.” Click._

“Okay, was that it?” Marcela asked, glancing up. Bond nodded, brow furrowing as he played the the message over in his head…something wasn’t quite right. “All right, now—”

“He sounds healthier, in that his voice is stronger without coughing or exhaustion. Casual, to deter any eavesdroppers,” Bond interrupted, leaning forward as Marcela scrolled through the log back to the beginning, where the last missed call rested. “Turn down the volume,” he said right as she moved the cursor over to the bar. 

She nodded, and then lowered the volume, ignoring a few techs who scooted closer to the desk. Bond raised a brow, causing two to pause, but didn’t say a word as he turned his attention back to the screen:

_“Hi James, it’s me. I wanted to let you know that I’ll be at the rendezvous in ten minutes, there’s been a bit of a comp—*cough* *cough* complication at the train station so I’m sorry for being late. I left my jacket at the hotel, so I’ll be the one in red. See you in ten.” Click._

“It’s different.”

“Which means it was either recently recorded or edited to make it sound as though it was different,” Marcela said, grinning for a split second as she looked up at Bond. “There’s a chance he could still be alive,” she said finally, lowering her voice as she gestured for the two techs to come closer to their impromptu huddle. She glanced at her screen, frowning as the blocked number finally appeared. She typed in a few more commands before turning back to Bond.

“A chance,” Bond repeated, ignoring the little bubble of hope in his chest. 

She hesitated, and then said, “I can arrange for you to take leave off, speak to O’Reilly  or Miller discreetly. The three of us can monitor you in the evenings, M doesn’t have to know, and you’ll be traveling to… Boston, it looks like,” she said, squinting at the address that had appeared on the screen. “It’s a civilian address, but it _has_ to have some kind of connection to Cairo,” she said, turning back to Bond, who nodded absently as he leaned forward to commit the number and address to memory. “If you want, you can leave your mobile here, and we’ll let you know if another call comes in.”

Bond nodded, standing up. “I’m leaving now, I’ll pick up a disposable on the way,” he said, already gathering his coat and heading for the door. “Get a ticket and boarding pass for the next flight to Logan International. Alter my files with Miller, and tell him what’s going on if he asks,” he said over his shoulder. “And if M catches on, tell him that I held you at gunpoint.”

Marcela paled, but nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Bond decided to forego packing and just go, grabbing onto that little bit of hope and protecting it, deciding he would just kill the audio editors if it was an elaborate trap.

_Hang on Q, I’m coming._


	68. Chapter 68

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

It was past three in the morning when Q finally stumbled into his flat.

_James must be home already._ Missy didn’t appear as he closed the door and locked it again, hanging his coat and bag up on their designated hooks. He reset his security alarms and moved silently through the flat, heading first to the bedroom to check on James. A slight push of the door, and he leaned in to find the familiar log-like lump on the side of the bed closest to the door, Missy curled up in a little depression next to him. Q smiled to himself, but remained on alert regardless as he carefully leaned into the room to grab the pajamas he’d set out on the bureau earlier that day.

A soft snuffle, and the lump rolled onto the stomach before falling still _._ Q merely smiled and shook his head, leaving the room again.

He used the smaller guest loo as to not disturb James, aware that the agent only recently returned from Beijing. Skipping the shower, he brushed his teeth and slipped into his pajamas before he went to the kitchenette, setting out the coffeemaker and kettle and pouring water into both before reaching up for his tea. He placed a bag into a mug before setting James’s mug aside double-checking that everything was prepared to go in the morning, and then headed back to the bedroom, a smile twitching the corner of his face when he saw that the lump had moved, curling slightly towards the edge of the bed. _No spooning, it must have been a difficult mission._ Suppressing a sigh, he walked around the bed and pulled back the duvet, sliding underneath the sheets as to not disturb James and Missy. He could almost see the agent’s back muscles relax as James slowly succumbed to sleep again.

_I can’t imagine not coming home to him anymore._

Q felt blindsided…almost. They had been together for… _two years, four months, and six days,_ but Q always felt content and at peace around James, even when the agent drove him up a wall over the usual disregard for weapons or personal safety. Q closed his eyes, a knot forming in his throat as he tried to picture his life if James were to either disappear or walk away. _But I’d let him leave, if that’s what he wanted. I love him too much to make him miserable_.

He turned over onto his side, swallowing back the urge to whisper those three damning words aloud just in case the agent was still awake. Instead, he leaned forward, and, mindful of Missy, very carefully placed a finger against James’s back, the T-shirt warm under his fingertip. _I love you_ , he wrote, pausing only when James shifted, but remained silent. Aware of the agent’s reactions to surprises, Q only dared to move again when the agent’s breathing evened out. _Je t’aime. Te amo. Te quiero. I love you. I want you to stay._

He retracted his hand a few moments later, not wishing to disturb James further. Out of habit, he rolled onto his other side, his back to James as he stared at the bedroom window, the curtains fluttering slightly in the breeze that slipped through the cracks. He smiled faintly when he heard a soft mewl before Missy moved, climbing over Q to nestle again in the curve of his body, purring loudly. He closed his eyes, gently stroking her fur.

Then the mattress shifted, dipping as James rolled over and pressed himself against the length of Q’s body, Q squeaking softly in surprise as familiar strong arms wrapped themselves around his torso and James nuzzled the back of his neck even through thick black curls. “James, I did—” he began slowly, heart racing when he belatedly remembered that as a Double-O, James would have trained to mimic sleep or unconsciousness. His breath caught a moment later, cutting his words off as he felt a hand rest on his own heartbeat, the rough fingers warm against his skin.

The shifting of fabric against sheets, and a kiss pressed against his temple. “I love you too, and I’ll stay as long as you want me too” James murmured into Q’s ear before pulling Q flush against him in their usual spooning position, even tucking Q’s head underneath his chin before settling down again.

Q smiled to himself as he felt James’s heartbeat and breathing even out again. He finally closed his eyes while his heart quietly soared with happiness in his chest at hearing those three little words for the first time from James.


	69. Chapter 69

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_Get the fuck off my side, Missy_.

Bond sighed, setting the damp shower towel on the nearby chair before walking around the bed towards where Q lay curled up on his side of the bed, closest to the window. He leaned forward and brushed a gentle kiss against Q’s temple, smiling slightly when Q made a soft noise and tilted his head up to bump noses with Bond for a second before turning over and settling down again. Brushing a few dark strands back, Bond moved back to his side of the bed, eyes narrowing at the calico that was curled up on his pillow, tail flicking lazily. Missy’s head still rested between her paws, but Bond could see that she was just as awake as he was.

_Bloody cat._

Q would have let her have the pillow. Bond had no such intentions.

He carefully framed his hands around the curve of her back and shoulder, pausing only when she growled, but then gently picked her up and placed her on the blankets in the curve of Q’s body. She perked up, yawning as Bond pulled the duvet back to finally slip into bed for the first time since he’d finished the latest mission. He settled down, watching Missy out of the corner of his eye as the calico finally stretched and stood up, easily sliding out from underneath where Q had rested his hand on her stomach. Then he turned over onto his side, closing his eyes as he scooted closer to Q.

_Maow_.

Bond didn’t open his eyes, but he could feel her paws on his calf as she began walking up the line of his body towards his middle. Very carefully, as to not disturb Q, Bond leaned back, Missy coming to a stop as she sought to balance herself. He tried to lean a little farther back, figuring she had enough space to land on the bed if not the floor, but stopped when she sank her claws into him, the tips barely touching his skin through the duvet, a sheet, and his old sweatpants. Then she promptly lay down, claws still digging through fabric as she shifted her position with each of his movements to maintain her balance. He tried not to groan aloud when he heard the familiar rumble of purring a moment later.

_Q, if I didn’t love you as much as I do, I would have dumped her to the ground by now. I just want you to know that._

Unable to relax with a nine pound feline sitting on his side, Bond tried to distract himself by watching Q, silently relieved to see slow but even breathing from his partner despite the still-present stress lines. _He must have had a hell of a clean-up on his end._ He reached out to run a gentle thumb down the side of Q’s face, silently hoping to somehow brush the stress away. 

Missy pounced onto his shoulder, sinking claws straight into his skin.

“Fucking… _cat,”_ he whispered, barely remembering in time to not react sharply and to keep his voice down as Missy’s tail thumped against his ribs. He let his arm relax, feeling Missy twitch as she followed the movement with her eyes. Bond sighed, settling in to wait until Missy was asleep before trying to move her.

_Mrrraaaow_.

Gritting his teeth, Bond remained absolutely still as she stood up again, purring as she paused long enough to smack her forehead against the bottom of his jaw, causing his teeth to click together. He closed his eyes as she began sniffing along the side of his face, placing a paw on his cheek to nose along his hairline. Then she shifted her balance, and Bond froze as he felt a rough tongue dragging across the strands, momentarily at a loss of what to do. _I can’t shake her off, or I risk her clawing my face as she tries to stay put._

_*Snerk*_

His eyes flickered immediately to Q to find that the other man had squeezed his eyes shut as he bit his lower lip, shoulders shaking from the effort to remain silent. “Q, I know you are awake. Get this bloody cat off of me or so help me I will make an extra fucking effort to return your next prototype in as many pieces as possible,” he growled, shifting slightly in place as Q rolled his eyes at the threat they both knew was empty.

“I’m—I’m sorry, it’s just this is adorable and I’ve never—” Q stopped to swallow down what Bond suspected was another laugh when Bond growled in warning. “Right, the cat,” he said, still grinning even as Bond tensed and twitched, distracting Missy and left her standing with her front paws on Bond’s cheek. “Missy, come here girl, come here,” Q called softly as he propped himself up on an elbow before sitting up all the way. “That’s a good girl, let’s not claw James’s face…” Bond heard a small feline grunt when Q picked Missy up around the middle, and then rubbed his face. Q, meanwhile, curled forward to kiss Missy on the head before setting her at the foot of the bed. Then he scooted closer to Bond, the agent wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer. “Good night, James,” he mumbled before kissing Bond lightly on the nose.

Bond sighed before leaning forward to kiss Q on the forehead. “Sleep well,” he murmured, only vaguely aware that Missy was moving around again. He jumped when she nosed her way in between his and Q’s bodies, ducking underneath the arm loosely wrapped around Q’s waist before settling down again, purring loudly. Then he relaxed, listening to the purrs and feeling Q’s heartbeat as he finally succumbed to sleep.


	70. Chapter 70

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** (Temporary) Major Character Death, Blood, Gore, Violence

“Hold still, Q. I know it hurts, but I can’t work if you’re wiggling.”

Q scowled, but obediently fell still again, gritting his teeth as James tightened the bloody scarf around the gash on his thigh. Of all the weapons to anticipate in a prison break, a knife had been pretty low on Q’s list, but he paid for his error less than ten minutes into his newfound freedom. James shifted his position, shielding their little campfire with his body from the still brightly-lit compound in the valley below their vantage point. “James…you should have gone without me, I’m just going to slow us down,” Q finally said, grimacing at a lance of pain that shot up into his hips.

James paused long enough to arch an brow. “You seriously think I would just leave you here to the mercy of whomever found you next?” he asked before looking back down at the injury. “We can always set up a second rendezvous point, and we stand a better chance of survival together than separated,” he said, tying off the final knot. Q gritted his teeth as James gingerly felt around the tourniquet, and then gently rubbed the surrounding skin. “Keep an eye on it, and tell me immediately if you start to lose feeling in that leg,” he said softly, settling down so that he could cradle Q’s face. “Other than that, are you all right?”

Q nodded. “Yes, yes, I’m fine…they didn’t even want me,” he said, looking down at the fire instead of James. He closed his eyes when he felt James rubbing his thumb against his skin,  sensing the unspoken question before he mumbled, “They were more curious about you than me…they didn’t even hurt me.” He looked up at James. “The leader, his or her face was covered and they had a box on the throat to cover the voice. They were…curious, actually, about where you were from, where you grew up, little things like that,” he said, brow furrowing as James’s expression shifted into something stone-like. “James, they never once threatened me up until the knife, they never asked about your career. I didn’t tell them anything, just said that we had started dating only recently and I didn’t know you all that well. Do _not_ consider breaking us off, not after four years together.”

“I wasn’t going to.” James glanced back at the compound, frowning before he turned back to the campfire. “I was thinking that I would see you until departure, and put you on the helicopter before dealing with them myself,” he said quietly, reaching forward to brush something off Q’s ripped cardigan. 

Q frowned. “James, that’s not—”

_Whish!_

James reached quickly, ducking to the side away from Q even as his foot came out and caught Q in the left knee. Q pitched backwards into the plants right as several bullets sparked against the numerous rocks before embedding themselves into the surrounding trees as the campfire was extinguished a moment later, plunging the entire site into darkness. Panic surging in his gut, Q twisted around in time to see three gunmen, one of them turning towards him as two took off after James, who had somehow tumbled out of view into the bushes. Scrabbling for a weapon while ignoring the fire in his leg, Q snatched a rock and threw it with unerring accuracy straight into his attacker’s forehead, earning a yowl of pain as the man stumbled away from him. Q barely heard the sound of crunching bone followed by a few short screams as he pulled himself back up in time to see the attacker, now recovered, immediately pull out a pistol, aim at Q, and pulled the trigger.

A large shadow flew out of the bushes past the attacker.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Silence.

Q honestly though he was dead for a moment—his head hurt from where it had connected with a rock, he couldn’t breathe—but then the _pain_ brought him back to reality as he numbly realized that there was a heavy weight with a familiar scent lying on top of him, arms wrapped tightly around his arms and chest. His heart grew numb as he slowly turned to see James’s face tucked on his shoulder. “James?” he whispered, hand shaking as he slipped it underneath blood-soaked fabric to flatten against James’s chest. Q’s stomach rolled when he felt nothing— _no pulse_ —saw the blood— _there’s so much—_ matting the familiar blond hair, and then heard the _crunch, crunch_ of approaching footsteps.

“ _No!”_

He didn’t recognize the scream that tore out of his throat as his own, blindly reaching for James’s Walther in its hip holster and firing twice into the attacker’s chest. A gurgle, and the man fell backwards into the underbrush, remaining still.

_This is all my fault_.

“James? James?” Q whispered, feeling numb as he tried to nudge James aside, hand shaking as he ran his fingers through the short blond hair. He closed his eyes, and then used what strength he had left to shove James’s body off of him, gasping as he managed to get the first few lungfuls of air. “James? James, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” he whispered, twisting around as best he could to roll James onto his back. He impulsively looked up, heart breaking at the peaceful expression— _it’s just like he’s sleeping_. Leaning forward, he shakily brushed a few dead leaves and dirt smudges off the agent’s face. _Agent down_ , he thought bitterly as he let the tears roll down his face, quietly grateful for once at the absolute solitude as he rested his head on James’s chest, trying to hold onto what fabric he could reach— _If I had designed better armor, if I just hadn’t gotten kidnapped_ —as he tried to hold onto what he could— _please don’t go, please don’t leave me here._

He didn’t know how long he lay there in the increasing cold, fingers growing stiff as the pain from his leg started to creep into his mind as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. It took him perhaps five minutes to realize that someone was combing their fingers through his hair, in the same motions that James always did when Q was stressed. Unable to fight back the wave of nausea, Q jerked away and twisted around, throwing up into the nearby bushes. _“Fuck!”_ he swore when he heard a faint wheeze beside him, and scooted away as fast as he could given his constraints, mouth dropping open when he turned and saw James’s hand moving, clearly feeling around the dead leaves. _“_ Fuck _,_ fuck, _fuck!”_ he swore, attempting to scoot away when he saw James’s body starting to move again.

“Q?”

A faint rasp of a whisper, but Q gaped, unable to move or speak as James pushed himself back into a sitting position, one hand feeling along the back of his head as the agent stared at the corpse of the attacker with a bemused expression. The confusion deepened when the agent turned around to find the leaf bed, but his face cleared when he finally looked up at Q, blue eyes scanning across his body as though searching for a sign of a new injury. “ _How?_ ” Q finally rasped, freezing when the agent made eye contact with him.

James didn’t reply, just rolled to his feet with a grunt and stretched, spine cracking before he approached the small pit and re-lit the campfire, as quietly and methodically as he’d done before. “I can’t die,” he said after a moment, nudging the corpse away with a foot before moving to sit down next to Q in the same position as before. “At first, I wasn’t sure if it was a fluke or not—the first time I died, it was by poison—but then I was shot before someone tried to drown me. Yet, here I am,” he said, ignoring Q’s flinch in favor of examining the recently bandaged wound. “I don’t know why or how, but I can’t die.” His voice seemed mechanical to Q’s ears, as though reciting from memory, but Q could see pain visible in those blue eyes. “If…if this going to be an issue, I’ll back out of the service now and go back…later.”

_Wait, what?_ Q blinked and shook his head, trying to get his brain functioning again. “No, no, it’s just that…I thought…you…were you…” he faltered, unsure of what question to ask first. He hesitated, flexing his fingers to encourage the blood flow to return, and then asked, “Why haven’t you told me before?”

“Because I didn’t know how you would take it, when we first started…started _this_. I didn’t know if you would pretend to stay with me only to turn around to sell my blood, or if you would just pack up and leave, or have me committed. I was _happy_ when we were able to work through difficulties together and that you _stayed,_ and I didn’t want to lose that,” James said, arms flexing as he retracted his hands and rested them back on his lap. “Those men who kidnapped you. I’ve dealt with them before, they want to do only God knows what on me,” he said, shifting position to face the fire and away from Q. He hesitated, and then whispered, “I was going to tell you. I wanted to tell you when we returned to London. You were hurt, and I wanted to focus on getting you out of here, so I didn’t say anything.”

Silence fell between the two of them, Q hugging himself as he tried to process everything James had said. Then he braced himself, scooted closer to James and settling down next to him so that they were nearly touching. He knew James saw him, saw the minute flicker of the agent’s eyes, but didn’t say a word as he reached up and gingerly slid his hand between the bloody fabric of James’s jacket— _all right, I didn’t imagine him getting shot_ —and pressed it against the now-warm skin of James’s chest.

_Thump, thump_.

Relief washed over Q, leaving bone-deep exhaustion in its wake. He ducked underneath James’s arm, allowing the agent to gingerly pull him into an embrace. “Anything else of this magnitude that I need to know about?” he asked, drowsily burrowing into James’s side, quietly enjoying the agent’s usual warmth.

Silence. “Ah…no…you’re not panicking.”

“Give it time. If we’re lucky, I may even forget to,” Q muttered back, trying to plaster himself against James’s side. “Now hold me, and I’ll try to think of a good way for you to make this up to me,” he said, hating that his voice shook. “I—I thought you were gone for good, and that terrified me the most about tonight,” he whispered, curling into a tight little ball against James as the familiar hand rubbed his back.

He grunted when James scooped him up and held him tightly. “I’ve got you, Q, I’ve got you, you’ll be fine, I’m so sorry,” were the last few whispers he heard before closing his eyes, trying to rest and pretend the whole incident never happened.

_And to think I thought the rumors of you being immortal were nothing but fiction._


	71. Chapter 71

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_“I’ll be back in a week, I promise to stay out of trouble. There’s something quick I have to take care of before I return to London. I love you_.”

“James, you picked a shitty time to go on a post-mission vacation,” Q grumbled to himself as he stumbled out of the car and onto the rain-slicked pavement of Marseilles, the cold air stinging his nose as he managed to collect himself before falling altogether. He waved the driver off before crossing the street to the lovely hotel that James’s sub dermal tracker led him to, several days since James dropped off the radar after killing one out of two twin mercenaries that had targeted and killed a government official. Clutching the waterproof sealed envelope from headquarters in his hands, Q steeled himself for the worst—he had no idea what James was doing here—and entered the luxury hotel, ignoring the fact that he most likely resembled a drowned rat.

The receptionist began to stand as he approached her desk, his footsteps making a _squish-squish_ sound as he crossed the expansive lobby. “Sir, you cannot—” she began, but Q cut her off.

“I’m looking for a blond gentleman who goes under the name of either Arlington Beech or James Bond. It is an urgent matter and I _really_ don’t have the time to argue,” Q said, leaning forward as he ignored the lifts opening behind him.

The receptionist’s eyes widened slightly, and she stammered incoherently before her eyes slid to a spot behind him. Confused, Q turned around and blinked.

James stood there, wearing his usual heavy wool overcoat over his suit. He raised an eyebrow as he slowly buttoned the coat up, leaving the first five buttons open. “Q? What the hell are you doing here?” James asked, brow furrowing in worry as he approached Q and rested his hands on Q’s waist as worried blue eyes studied his own. “Is everything all right back home?” he asked quietly, a hand coming up to gently cup Q’s face.

“Yes, yes, yes, but I had to warn you about the mercenaries that you went after. The twins,” Q said, glancing warily at the receptionist, who was looking determinedly down at her work. He turned back to James and asked, “Can we talk somewhere private?”

“Of course, let’s go back to my room,” James said, pressing a button on the lift. “Does M know you’re here?” he asked quietly, watching Q.

Q shook his head. “Nobody knows I’m here, which is why I have to leave on the next train in four hours. I left London as soon as I located the intel. James, there _is_ a paymaster, just like I suspected. It was an organized hit, I left R searching through the politician’s records to find out whom he could have possibly angered,” he whispered as the lift doors opened and he and James stepped on. “What doesn’t make sense is that the politician was nowhere near as powerful as Mycroft Holmes, just climbing through the ranks.”

“That makes sense, I suspected that the surviving twin was up to something when he arranged to meet someone here in Marseilles,” James said grimly, watching the numbered lights continue increasing. He pulled Q into a tight hug, wrapping arms around Q as he gently nuzzled Q’s hair. “I missed you,” he finally whispered when Q rested his chin on James’s shoulder. “I’m sorry this is taking longer than I wanted it to, but when I spotted the surviving twin I couldn’t just let him go.”

“Is that why you’re here in Marseilles, several hundred miles from where you said you would be?” Q asked, voice slightly muffled as he buried his face in the crook of James’s neck, suddenly struck with a pang of longing. “I missed you too,” he murmured, pulling back for a kiss.

James nearly knocked him backwards when eagerly reciprocating the kiss, almost as though he was holding onto his last. His hands slipped around the back of Q’s neck and ran though the dark curls, and Q let out a soft hum of contentment. “When I get back, I won’t let you leave the room,” he murmured against Q’s skin. “Just the two of us for as long as you want.”

“Then I’ll call M, let him know,” Q whispered back as he turned to meet James for another kiss.

“Of course.” James kissed him again, tugging gently on Q’s lower lip until he pulled away as the lift doors opened again. “The twin has a meeting with someone here in the city, which is why I came,” he said quietly as they walked down the hall. “Wait for me in the hotel room, and only let me in.” He glanced at Q and said, “It’s an active field mission, so it’s for your safety. Remember that,” as he leaned past Q to slide his card through one of the slots.

Q nodded, walking into the hotel room before James. “Do you want me to stay here and keep an eye on you? I did bring my laptop,” he said, setting his bag down before looking across the luxurious carpeted hotel room.

“Won’t be necessary,” James said, smiling as he leaned forward for another kiss, resting his hands on Q’s shoulders. “I’m half tempted to forgo the mission and stay here with you,” he said softly, letting his hands slide down Q’s arms before reaching up to help Q break free of the parka. He took the information packet from Q and set it on the table before Q pulled him back for another kiss.

“No, go to that meeting. You can take care of the remaining survivor then _and_ identify the possible paymaster along with the bastard who initially ordered the hit, if there is one,” Q said, closing his eyes as James kissed him again, nearly crowding him against the wall. He nearly uttered a moan when James’s hands fluttered against his belt. “And then come back to me.”

“Wait, take care of whom?”

Q had barely opened his eyes to see the newcomer over James’s shoulder when James abruptly pressed his entire weight on Q, almost flattening him against the wall. Before Q had a chance to process what the _fuck_ had just happened, cold metal had encircled his wrist with a _clink_ and the second cuff went around the semi-disguised pipe that ran in the corner of the room.

“James?” Q whispered, growing numb with horror as James retreated, extending a hand to the man in the door— _the surviving twin_ —and wordlessly catching the second pair of handcuffs. “James, James, what are you doing?” he asked, hating that his voice cracked as James returned to his side.

“I’m sorry, Alex, but I need a guarantee that you’ll be here when I get back,” James said quietly as he pulled Q’s cardigan sleeve down on his free arm before slipping on one of the cuffs. He put the other cuff on Q’s other hand just above the first one, leaving him tied to the pipe with no free hands. He glanced back at the surviving mercenary, and said, “He thought I was hunting you down, and came to warn me about the paymaster we’re about to go see.”

“Ah, is this the Six boyfriend you said was off-limits?” the mercenary asked, tilting his head for a better look at Q as James turned back to make sure the cuffs were secure.

“And he still is,” James said grimly as he carefully pulled down Q’s other cardigan sleeve through the two cuffs so that there was no direct skin contact. Blue eyes met Q’s own. “You’ll be safe here, and I’ll be back in an hour.”

“James, what the hell are you _doing_?” Q whispered in horror. _This can’t be happening._

“I promise to explain when I get back. It was for a good reason, Q, and it had to be done,” James said, almost starting to lean reflexively in for a kiss, but stopped himself. He instead gave Q a quick pat down, turning up nothing, and then straightened his coat. “Sixty minutes, Alex, and I’ll be right back,” he said, never looking away.

“Thank you for telling me how much time I have left to try and _escape_ ,” Q spat, angry with James for even _doing_ this, angry with himself for stupidly leaving without a word to his colleagues. “James, you can’t be serious…did you even kill that other twin?” he demanded, suddenly recalling that the two men had disappeared from camera and satellite range, and Q-Branch _had_ heard a gunshot and James had confirmed the kill.

“Missed. Happens to the best of us,” James said before moving the table away from Q. Then he collected the information packet that Q had brought—with all of the intel that Q had spent hours painstakingly collecting—and tucked it into his overcoat as he walked out of the room, closing the door behind with an audible _snap_.

Q stared at the door in numb horror before sinking to his knees, leaning against the pole as he tried to collect his thoughts. Plan. He needed an escape plan.

_Sixty minutes._


	72. Chapter 72

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“ _I know how to bloody count, damn you!”_

Q jumped in his seat, dropping his book when he heard James bellow in anger. He looked up in time to see the poor physical therapist trip over himself to escape the enraged Double-O, who remained somewhat confined to the parallel bars he’d been using to practice walking again after a mission ended with James being shot in the knee and left him with a pulled shoulder, the latter of which remained tucked against the agent’s side. Calmly, he set the book down and walked over to where the two men were, his footsteps nearly inaudible on the mat floor that covered the gym. “Patrick, Patrick, it’s all right,” he said, ignoring James’s quiet snarl as Patrick jumped in surprise. He knelt down and helped Patrick up, patting him on the back before whispering, “Let me talk to him for a moment.”

“By all means. Tell him that the sooner we do this, the sooner we can all be done and go home,” Patrick said, raising his hands in surrender as he walked away, back to the other side of the gym where his bag rested. He casually grabbed his water bottle and moving to the far corner to take a break, looking anywhere other than the two of them.

Q, meanwhile, turned and returned to his riled husband, brow furrowing as he watched James’s shoulders sag a moment later. The blue eyes never left him as he walked up and gently cradled James’s face in his hands, resting his forehead against James’s for a moment. “How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, tilting his head to make eye contact with the agent.

“Like hell. Q, I want to go home now, I don’t give a damn about the remaining time with this arse,” James said, blue eyes hardening when Q sighed, but didn’t tense. “Fucking shoulder can’t stay in place, it hurts every time it moves, and walking is a pain with this knee,” he said after a few moments, scowling when Q glanced back at Patrick.

“I’m sorry James, Patrick and O’Reilly are just trying to help you heal correctly,” Q said, quirking a sad smile as he ran a gentle thumb across James’s cheek. _Heal correctly so that M can send you out again, even though I feel as though your chances of returning are diminishing with each mission._ His stomach churned at the thought, but he still maintained a sad smile, hoping to conceal his anxiety, and said, “I know it’s frustrating to work with Patrick, I know you want to be healed already, but it needs time, you need to take this recovery step by step in order to feel better.” He grinned softly when James grunted, leaning heavily on the uninjured arm to rest his head on Q’s chest. “Besides, you’re at least doing the at-home exercises so very well,” he said, raising his voice briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching when James tilted his head to peer at him suspiciously.

“That might be because _someone_ is apparently not above using bribery to make me do them,” James countered, raising a brow before he looked away. “O’Reilly is talking about using some kind of injection if the physical therapy doesn’t work on the shoulder. I’m just too tired to be dealing with this shit today, I just wanted to go home once you finished your shift in Q-Branch, not be stuck here for an hour in physical therapy,” he said finally, each word almost inaudible between clenched teeth as he stubbornly looked away from Q.

“Would it help if we cut your visits down from twice to once a week?” Q asked quietly, glancing back at Patrick, who was looking anywhere but at them. “Recovery itself might just take a little longer than if we were doing twice a week, that’s the only downside to all of it,” he said, gently rubbing James’s back. He didn’t glance at the security camera, only moved to stand in between James and the camera. 

James didn’t immediately reply, only sighed and sank while bracing himself with his left arm. “It’s getting harder to bounce back, Alex,” he said after a moment, stubbornly ignoring Q as he spoke. “If there was ever a moment to be living on borrowed time, now would be it.”

Q didn’t immediately reply; James probably knew the numbers better than him; _fifty-three in April, fifteen years of service to MI6 in June._ He hesitated, sighed, and then carefully massaged the injured shoulder as he always did in the evenings before bed, as the physical therapist had shown him. “Whichever you decide to do, know that you have my full support of your decision,” he said finally, leaning forward to kiss James’s temple. “I’ll talk to Patrick and tell him that you’re not feeling well at the moment, and then get some paracetamol for you before we leave Medical. You already had your prescription medication today, correct?”

“Yes.”

“All right. After we do that, I’ll go to Q-Branch to grab my things, and then _I’ll_ bring the car around for you,” Q said, walking around and bending slightly to better face James, who quietly regarded him. “And while I’m down there, I’ll doctor some of the footage in here, no one has to know about what happened in here except for the three of us, and Patrick is bound by patient confidentiality to remain silent. You’ll have to talk to at least O’Reilly when you’re ready,” he said, his heart lightening as he felt James’s right hand gently wrap around his own, a ghost of a smile appearing on the agent’s face.

“Thank you, Alex.”

Q smiled, and then leaned forward for one more kiss before ensuring that James could stand on his own power. Then he moved to approach Patrick, feeling James’s steady gaze on his back as he approached the physical therapist. 

_It’s all right James, I’ve got you._


	73. Chapter 73

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None
> 
>  **Notes:** Continuation of [Chapter 25](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3464897/chapters/7982853)

“You know, you can leave now, if you want. I’ll still give you the new car.”

“Then what will you tell the relatives when they see you arrive to the wedding ceremony with a date, yet arrive to your reception on your own?” Bond asked as he offered his elbow to Q, who gingerly accepted it, still looking extremely uncomfortable in his new suit as they allowed other wedding guests to leave the church ahead of them. “Not to mention, that one partier that gave you trouble at your aunt’s wedding, he may attempt to approach you at the reception,” Bond warned even as he nudged Q forward with an elbow to the spine. “What’s our story when your relatives ask about us?” he asked, hoping to distract Q with a plan for the next half of the afternoon— _even if it’s nothing but a story to keep his relatives off, it’s not something I wouldn’t like to happen in reality._

He blinked at the thought— _could we work together as a couple?_ “We met in the National Gallery, stick to the truth as much as we’re allowed,” Q said, unaware of Bond’s thoughts as he shrank slightly at Bond’s side. With a curl of worry and protectiveness in his gut, Bond instinctively reached around Q’s waist and held him closer as a few of the groom’s relatives narrowed their eyes in Q’s direction— _long time animosity between Q and the groom since Q apparently got him arrested for money laundering before joining MI6, the bride—Q’s cousin—hadn’t known until the rehearsal dinner._ “James, I know I made a deal with you so that you would come out here with me—” he began slowly, his hand tightening around Bond’s.

“And I told you that I would happily agree without a deal, but you insisted,” Bond interrupted quietly, looking down at Q. “Do you want to leave now? Say the word and we’ll go,” he said in a soft voice, watching as the last few guests began filtering out of the church out of the corner of his eye.

“No, I still haven’t faced the Winfield Inquisition, and you’re going to help me avoid my aunts’ matchmaking attempts,” Q said, edging out from between the pews to start walking towards the church doors. “Aunt Mara especially wants me to settle down by now for some reason I can only imagine. She, Mum, and Aunt Pam don’t care about whom I settle down with, but Aunt Shelby is hoping for more children,” he said, making a face as the two of them followed the other guests towards a brilliantly decorated pavilion that were on the church grounds. “And James? One other thing,” he said quietly, turning to face Bond.

“What is it?”

“Thank you. For doing this,” Q said, fidgeting in place as he looked away, brow furrowing slightly. Bond kept his hand flat against his side to resist the temptation to smooth the wrinkles away with a thumb, choosing instead to listen. “I…I’m truly sorry if all of this has made you uncomfortable, pretending to be my, er, date when I don’t even know if you’re, um, interested in men like that. My aunts are about to make things extremely more uncomfortable for us, especially when there’s an open bar,” he said, fidgeting in place. Bond nodded, watching Q’s face as the other man finally gathered the courage to face him again. “I think, what I’m trying to say, is I feel horrible for bribing you out here without even checking to see if you were comfortable with the idea because I was so focused on getting out of discomfort at yet _another_ family gathering,” he said, squaring his shoulders as he made eye contact with Bond. 

Bond could see that Q’s shoulders trembled slightly, his body fidgeting as he resisted the urge to turn back to the pavilion, where Bond could already see two adult women watching the two of them. “Q, if pretending to be your date was something I wasn’t comfortable with doing, I would have refused even with the terms you offered,” he said quietly, reclaiming Q’s attention. “I’m still willing to stay here, and can even help you get out with an excuse. Just say the word and I’ll make up some reason for us to leave,” he said with a brief smirk, his heart lightening when Q grinned before ducking his head in his usual attempt to hide a laugh. _There’s the smile I always look forward to._ “Now, which aunt was it that had the drunk friend of yours that you pushed into the fountain?” he asked, offering his elbow in an attempt to distract Q.

“That would be Aunt Mara. Tim was one of Uncle César’s second cousins,” Q said, carefully linking his arm with Bond’s. “And there she is, that’s not a surprise at all,” he muttered, offering a half-hearted wave to the two women, the taller of whom waved back enthusiastically. “I’m sorry, Bond, I’m sorry in advance for whatever they say,” Q muttered, face already turning pink as the taller woman said something to her companion before turning away, her dress flaring out behind her.

Bond merely squeezed Q’s hand in reassurance.

He immediately guessed that the woman who waited for them was Q’s mother; she had his hazel eyes, dark hair, and quiet intelligence as she scanned Bond over as they approached her.  “Alexander, you need to call more often,” she chided as Q pulled free and finished the last few steps alone. He scrunched his face as she pulled him close for a kiss to the cheek, and then coughed as she fussed with his tie and glasses. “And your favorite excuse of ‘you’re too busy saving the free world to call’ isn’t going to work anymore,” she scolded, already adjusting his jacket as Q tried to gently push her hands away. “You didn’t even tell me you were seeing someone!” 

“Mum, this is James. James, this is my mother,” Q said, jaw flexing as he tugged Bond forward.

“Call me Emily. It’s wonderful to meet you, James,” Emily said, smiling as she clasped Bond’s hand and shook it gently. Bond maintained the smile even when he felt the gentle fragility in the other woman’s fingers, and relaxed his grip. “Alexander has told me absolutely nothing about you, but that’s his fault, not yours, James,” she asked, ignoring the way Q squirmed in place next to Bond as she released Bond’s hand. “Now, tell me. Where are you from? Do you work for Universal Exports the same way he does, or somewhere else?” she asked.

“I live in London, but grew up in Glencoe,” Bond said, wrapping a relaxed arm around Q’s waist. “In all honesty, I traveled quite frequently as a child, so I’ve always considered London to be my home,” he said, remaining still as he felt Q tense again—the taller woman was coming back with a pilfered tray and four champagne glasses. “I actually work in security at Universal Exports, but apparently Alex and I share an interest in the arts, as we met at the National Gallery. I’ve been trying to coax Alex to travel more with me lately, but it’s a work in progress,” he said, grinning when Emily laughed, much to Q’s chagrin. 

“Well, tell us if you succeed because I’ll want to know your trick. I’ve spent _years_ trying to get him to come on the family vacation to Marseilles, but that boy is slipperier than a fish in water,” the tall woman said, earning a groan from Q. She offered the champagne tray to Emily and said, “Drink? We’re going to need it because I can already tell that poor Shelby is going to need serious retail therapy later, she’s been getting misty-eyed for the last _week_ —”

“Mara, her daughter just got married. You’d be doing the same in her place,” Emily interrupted, taking the tray from the woman— _Mara_ , Bond corrected himself—so that Mara could pull Q into a hug. “And you were right, Alex _did_ bring his significant other to the wedding,” she said as Mara ruffled Q’s hair.

“I _knew_ it!” Mara said delightedly, pulling away and clapping her hands together. “I _told_ you that it was his partner when they arrived, but no, you didn’t believe me just because Alex hadn’t called to tell you about it,” she said, grinning broadly even as Emily raised her hands in surrender. “In fact, I am ready to bet that—”

“Mum, Aunt Mara, James and I are going to find our seats now, if you’ll excuse us,” Q said, tugging on Bond’s hand before leading him around his aunt. “They’ll be serving lunch soon, and we should all probably be sitting down now—”

“Table Six, dear. You’re with us, Uncle César, and Aunt Pam,” Emily called after the two of them. 

“Oh God…I don’t even know what will happen in the next few hours,” Q whispered, clutching Bond’s arm tightly. “And Aunt Mara is going to keep asking us questions, especially since she thinks we’ve been together for who knows how long and I don’t even know if you want—”

“Relax, Q. You’re still not making me do something I don’t want to do,” Bond interrupted, glancing at Q, who raised a brow. “We just keep pretending to be together, for appearances’ sake, and then we can have a ‘breakup’ later on,” he said, careful to keep his body angled between Q and his aunt and mother. He didn’t know if Mara could lip-read, but now would not be the best time to test that theory. 

Q nodded. “All right… pretend to breakup. We—I can do that,” he said quietly, a flicker of… _pain?_ flashing across his eyes before he looked down. Bond blinked, mildly surprised to find that not only did that pain mirror the twist in his chest, but he suddenly disliked causing further distress to Q. A light squeeze of Q’s hand, and the two of them began walking towards the dining tables under the pavilion again, Bond suddenly aware this time of an unwelcome gulf between them.

_Christ…don’t tell me I’ve definitely started falling for him._


	74. Chapter 74

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“All right, double-oh seven, let me explain why your decision is stupid before you—”

_“Mraow!”_ Q looked up sharply at the sound and managed to reach for his paperwork and moved it aside seconds before Missy jumped onto his desk, purring loudly as she preened for a moment. Q only sighed and set his paperwork in one of two wire bins on his desk as Missy tilted her head in slight confusion before padding across his desk—he cringed when she walked on his laptop for a few seconds—and bumped her forehead against his chin, purring loudly as she walked past him, rubbing her back along his jaw. “You have got to be kidding me right now,” Q muttered, glancing nervously over his shoulder at the rest of his staff before discreetly pressing a button to opaque his windows.

“ _You brought the fucking cat to work?”_

“I did _not_ bring the fucking cat to work, I’m a professional,” Q snapped even as he adjusted his headset so that he could reach forward and grasp Missy around the middle and set her on the floor in his desk footwell. “There’s a cat on the few surveillance cameras we have on the mark, to whom you _should_ be paying attention,” he snapped, opening his laptop and accessing the comms. He hummed for a few moments as he typed in a few codes, only relaxing when he heard the familiar _click_ of James’s line switching to a private one between the two of them. “We’re on a private line now. And yes, James, I brought the fucking cat to work,” Q admitted almost immediately after in a softer voice, sinking in his seat with a groan. “I didn’t have any other choice, it was either miss the budget meetings or bring her in.”

He faintly heard James groan over the link. “ _Seriously? What the hell could have happened that warranted you bringing her in?”_ he asked, the irritation audible in his voice.

“Mrs. Brown’s toaster blew up and set off the fire alarms throughout the building, I just grabbed Missy and went. That was around eight-thirty, and the fire department arrived at eight forty-five with no idea of when we could go back in, and I had to go because of the budget meeting. She’s been in my office, behaving herself ever since,” Q said, switching on the camera that overlooked his branch. He grimaced when he saw his staff ‘discreetly’ searching for something on their own monitors, but managed to move his foot in time to keep Missy from trying to bolt out from the footwell.

“ _Q, I can’t believe you brought the fucking cat to work.”_

“She’s minding her own business, James, and I didn’t know what else to _do_ ,” Q snapped, looking on his computer screen in time to see M enter the branch. “Are you—fuck, it’s M. I’m going to transfer you back over to R,” he said, jumping when Missy abruptly pulled one of his shoelaces completely free, but he kept his foot between her and freedom. _Especially if M is coming to my office._ He tried not to make a face as he felt her clawing at his foot, and in an effort to distract her, he pushed his shoe completely off and nudged it in her direction.

“Q, a word?”

“Of course, sir,” Q said, straightening in his seat. “Is there something you wish to discuss?” he asked, folding his hands on top of the desk as he kept his foot extended into Missy’s potential escape route. “Will this require double-oh seven on the line?” he asked, frowning as M closed his office door.

“Yes, please put him on,” M said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He glanced up as Q started to make the necessary adjustments, and then asked, “Are you aware that your staff is agitated?” as he gestured to the opaque windows behind Q.

_Yes_. “What are they doing?” Q asked, trying not to wince as he heard the faint sounds of claws scratching leather underneath his desk. A faint _click_ , and then he turned his laptop’s volume as far up as it would go. “Double-oh seven, you are now on a private line with both me and M,” he said, praying that James would keep his mouth shut about Missy. 

“Your staff seem to be searching for something, but were rather distressed when I walked in,” M said, folding his arms across his chest as they both heard James cough on his end of the line. “Do you know what they could be looking for? Do you think it’s critical?”

_They’re searching for a cat that doesn’t exist_. “Ah, no, sir, but I’m sure whatever it is, double-oh seven will deal with it promptly if it turns out to be a threat,” Q said, keeping his voice level even as James coughed again. “What is wrong, sir?”

“We caught onto new intel that could potentially change Bond’s objective from ‘kill’ to ‘capture’,” M said as Q felt Missy sniffing around his foot. “Andreas may be involved with a  human trafficking ring that requires very careful and specific instructions to access, mainly to deter individuals such as us from getting inside,” M explained, pulling up a chair for himself. Q tried not to flinch when Missy attempted to rub herself along his foot before she bat at it twice before sitting down, purring as she sniffed along his trouser leg.

_“And you want me to catch Andreas so that we can use his connection into this ring?”_ Bond guessed, clothes rustling as Q suspected he lowered the sniper rifle.

“Correct. This may be the only opening we have, but what I want to know, Q, is do you think it’s worth the added risk of bring Andreas in alive, or should we try to find an easier associate of his?” M asked, turning to Q the _exact same fucking moment_ Missy sank her teeth into Q’s sock-covered foot.

_Fuck._ “I think we should definitely take advantage of what opening we have now,” Q said, tensing his jaw as he sat perfectly still, Missy growling when his foot refused to budge even though she was tugging on it now. “There’s no guarantee we’ll find another opening as good as this one,” he said, keeping his voice calm and even even as he felt Missy tug his foot closer to her as she tucked her body underneath, using her two front paws to grasp his foot. _Oh, fucking hell, please don’t do what I know you’re about to do._ “However, if the risk to Bond’s survival is too great—”

_“Nonsense, I can handle it. I’ve faced worst,”_ James interrupted as Q felt Missy curl her back so that her back paws pressed against the bottom of his foot. He reflexively tried to tug his foot free, in a last ditch attempt to avoid the inevitable, but then she started kicking at him, her claws raking the underside of his foot as her teeth dug into his skin. “ _In fact, I see the perfect opportunity now, so I’ll sign off and go in for it,”_ James said as Q returned his attention to the conversation at hand.

M nodded. “All right, in that case, please—” he began.

_“Rrraow!”_

M stopped and turned to look over his shoulder, giving Q a chance to scrunch his face in absolute pain as Missy continued to claw at his foot in a bid for freedom, her successive growls barely audible now. He tilted his body to keep her better fenced in, and rearranged his expression to a confused frown when M turned back. “Did you just hear that?” M asked, glancing at the couch on the other side of Q’s office.

_No, I actually felt it_. “Hear what, sir?” he asked, guilt twisting in his chest at M’s brief panicked expression. 

“Nothing…I just…” M shook his head. “Right. Double-oh seven, you have your new orders. Quartermaster, report to me once he’s succeeded,” he said before leaving the office, rubbing his temples. Q just nodded, trying to ignore the spikes of pain as Missy’s anger turned to panic when one of her claws caught on the fabric of the sock.

The minute the door closed, Q let out a yelp and curled his foot close as Missy shot out from underneath his desk. “Fucking _cat_ ,” he hissed, scowling when he heard James laughing over the comms. “You… you shut up,” he growled, rubbing his foot as Missy jumped onto the couch, James still laughing. “This is my fault, I get it. Now go get that objective and come home already,” he snapped, narrowing his eyes at Missy, who merely purred as she settled on a pillow on one end of the in-office sofa.

_“First your staff, and now M. Does your evil know no bounds, my dear Quartermaster?”_

“Keep testing me, and you’ll be the first one to find out,” Q growled as he reached for his now-cold tea. “You have your orders, double-oh seven. Get to them.”

“ _Yes, sir. Will get in touch once I’m finished.”_

“Just go fucking do it already, Bond,” Q growled before sipping the tea.


	75. Chapter 75

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“James? Please at least tell me that you turned the earpiece off before we, erm…”

“Actually, I dropped it in my water glass after I spotted you, so you can write that off as a loss when you return to London,” Bond replied, slowly drawing circles on Q’s still sweaty chest as he rested his chin in Q’s thick curls. He felt warm and sated, quietly glad that the the fire in the fireplace on the opposite side of the hotel guest suite still burned, giving him no reason to move from his rather comfortable position on the bed. Q rested on top of him, his back against Bond’s chest, and Bond could feel his heartbeat against his own skin. “So as long as R wasn’t paying attention, no one knows I followed you here after the mark excused himself for bed.”

“And you’ve had no issues so far?” Q asked, resting his hand on top of Bond’s.

“No. Still integrating myself with the mark, but it will take more time. He likes me, so there is that,” Bond remarked quietly, closing his eyes as he listened to Q breathe softly, his breaths slowly falling into sync with the other man. “Although, that doesn’t answer the question of what _you’re_ doing here, unless there was a drop-off that no one thought to inform me about?” he asked, looking down at Q, who shook his head.

“No, I’m actually here because my cousins needed an extra pair of hands to help with the children on the family vacation, and it just so coincided with M threatening to kick me out of the office for three weeks if I didn’t use some overdue leave time. So I thought I could manage a peaceful trip to Switzerland with family I hadn’t seen in a while because they wanted to ski,” he said, stretching out across Bond as he tried twice to turn over, but didn’t get farther than a couple of twitches before lying still again. “So _I_ was minding my own business when you scared me half to death by coming up behind me,” he said, grinning lazily as Bond dragged his fingers through the familiar dark strands.

“Have you been skiing much, then? Since you came here, whenever that was?” Bond asked, immediately calling to mind the family of four he’d first spotted Q sitting with at dinner; the woman had to have been the related cousin, he’d nearly mistaken her for Q at first. “You’ve been careful on the slopes, right?” he asked after a moment, a trill of worry in his veins at the thought of Q on the slopes— _I can’t lose someone else I love to the mountains. Not again._

“I haven’t been on at all, actually, I’ve just been with Kelly this entire time in the lodge while her parents and older brother ski,” Q said, catching Bond’s hand and raising it in front of him, gently wrapping the agent’s fingers around his own. “Tyler is still on the smaller slopes with his parents, but Kelly is still working on steady standing without the added complication of skis. I watch Tyler when his parents want to go on the higher slopes, so really I’m still babysitting, just children instead of agents.” He pulled Bond’s hand closer to himself and kissed the back. “What, dare I ask, are _you_ doing here at the lodge?”

“Following the mark, as ordered. I’ve gotten as far as his inner circle now, turns out that the woman who tipped us off was not his only mistress. He has about six or seven, it’s hard to tell, honestly, and I think it was Number Four he wanted to meet here,” Bond said, stretching underneath Q as he allowed Q to kiss his fingertips. 

Q was quiet for a moment. “And M? What did he say when he saw I was here?”

“I don’t know, R wouldn’t repeat any of the discussion. He just told me to proceed as normal, but keep in mind that an MI6 executive with family was present in the vicinity.” Bond hesitated, and then quietly added, “As your partner, I would strongly advise, however, that you talk to your cousin, and tell her that it may be in her and her husband’s best interest that all five of you leave while you still can.”

Q remained silent for a moment, and then Bond felt him deflate slightly. “All right, I’ll tell her in the morning…I may have to explain the situation to her so that we can leave quietly without a fuss. She knows I work in the government, but not that I work in MI6. She’ll take any warnings seriously,” he said before brushing another few kisses across Bond’s knuckles, his body twitching slightly. “We have a few more hours, though.”

“Mm…are you all right?” Bond asked, glancing down at Q when he felt Q twitch again.

“Mm-hmm, just starting to get cold, that’s all. Unlike you, I don’t have a blanket and the fire is starting to die down” he said, scrunching his face when Bond wiggled his hand free to gently tap his nose. 

“Then scoot off of me and I’ll fix the problem,” he said, grinning as Q twisted around to face him, stretching across his body before leaning down for a quick kiss. Then he helped Q move, tilting his body to deposit Q on a mess of tangled blankets and sheets. Bond paused for a moment to scan Q’s form, still as lean and strong as the first time he ever saw it. He ran his hands down Q’s naked torso, earning a scowl and fluttery hands as Q tried to brush his hands away from his ribs. “Sorry, I got distracted,” he said, grinning when Q rolled his eyes before reaching up and wrapping his arms around Bond’s neck, pulling him down so that they were both touching foreheads.

“Double-oh seven, do I need to give you a new set of orders to keep you on track?” he asked, hazel eyes narrowing with mischief as Bond grinned, but shook his head. “No? Then make me a blanket nest, and then get into the nest with me to warm it up for me,” he said, smirking when Bond feigned an injured expression.

“And here I thought you loved me for the winning personality,” Bond said, allowing Q to tilt his head up for another kiss. “One moment, then.”

He pulled away, leaning back to pull up the crooked duvet and the few sheets that had been kicked aside and gather them into his hands, straightening each one out and lying it flat. Then, ignoring Q’s soft, irritated mutters, he pulled up the blankets that Q had settled on and made a thick layer of blankets, which he tried to lie flat. “Q, get out of bed for a moment,” he said softly, nodding encouragingly when Q frowned at him. “Three minutes, Q, I swear.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Q muttered, a smile crossing his face even as he pulled himself out of bed and stood to the side, scooting closer to the fireplace as Bond stood on the bed, lying out the blankets flat on the mattress. “James, what are you doing?” he asked after a few minutes, a trace of amusement audible in his voice.

“Working. All right, lie down on that end,” Bond said, gesturing towards the end of the bed farthest from the bed before flopping down himself, stretching across the duvet. He extended an inviting hand towards Q, who grinned before climbing onto the bed and settling down next to Bond. The agent ran a gentle hand across Q’s skin, noting the goosebumps before he turned to look at Q. “Now listen. You’re going to hold onto me and wrap your hand around my back to better hold the blankets. We’re basically going to roll across the bed to wrap the blankets around ourselves,” he said, watching Q as the other arched a brow. “Ready?”

Q laughed, throwing his head back against the pillows. “Very well, James, I’m ready,” he said, kissing Bond as the agent lowered himself to give him a chance to reach around Bond. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said as he got a better grip on the edge of the fabric. “Ready?”

“As ever.”

Rolling around in bed while wrapping one in blankets turned out better said than done, but Bond managed as best he could, grinning as Q stifled his own laughs. Bond only broke down at the end, shaking slightly as he buried his face into the crook of Q’s neck, already feeling the warmth beginning to build between the two of them as they finished their blanket burrito, leaving nothing but white sheets. “The management might just kill us for this,” Q said breathlessly as they finally settled near the edge of the bed, resting on their sides. “Assuming that the mark doesn’t realize how _fucking helpless_ we are at the moment!” he hissed, suddenly stiffening as he glanced fearfully at the door.

“I won’t let them get you,” Bond murmured, kissing the spot behind Q’s ear as he nosed strands of hair aside. “One tug of these blankets, and we’ll be free. I made sure we didn’t roll it so tight that we couldn’t move. Now settle down, we have to get up in a few hours, and I want to make the most of what time we have left,” he whispered, closing his eyes when Q turned and kissed him, the blankets loosening around them as Q shifted his position.

“Of course. I love you, James,” Q murmured before snuggling close to Bond, who quietly tucked the top of Q’s head underneath his chin, as he always did when the two of them stole quiet nights together back in London. He quietly exhaled, hating how the words of his response always froze in his throat no matter how desperately he wished to speak them aloud.

_I love you too, Q._


	76. Chapter 76

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_He’s finally coming home._

Q sipped from his Scrabble mug, pleased to note that James Bond’s status had changed from ‘ _Terra firma’_ to _‘En-route_ ’ with the airline information following the message while Q had been at dinner.  James had finally gotten his connection at Miami International to Heathrow. It had taken the two of them hours to get James on the first flight back home after the mission to Paraguay, especially when their first attempt was foiled by a rather clingy ex-wife of a drug cartel leader.  Intent on keeping James to herself, she’d ambushed James in the airport at the check-in counter, begging that he stayed or at least took her with him.  Q had been somewhat torn between humor at James’s misfortune and irrational jealousy that someone tried to take _his_ husband from him—five years to the day tomorrow—but in the end, he took pity on James and got revenge all at once. James got to go home, the ex-wife found herself on a flight to Venezuela.

And no one died.

The delay meant, however, that James would not come home until tomorrow morning, and Q would have one more lonely night to himself.  He felt justified in missing James primarily because he was now off-duty for the night and was just poking around on his desktop monitor (all his coding projects had mysteriously disappeared earlier that day, a technician was still hunting down the hard drive with the backup copies), waiting for his husband to return home.  Q was pretty sure he’d handled the last two weeks of separation rather maturely, even taking into consideration the few consecutive nights when James had to seduce and bed the wife in order to have unrestricted access into the compound.  R and a few other Q-Branch staffers had volunteered to monitor James for those times, but Q declined anyway, absently twisting his wedding ring around his finger throughout those long nights.

Setting the now empty Scrabble mug aside, Q stood up to hunt down the missing technician, who should have had the hard drive by now.  Adjusting his glasses, he left his office and stepped out into the sea of desks and tables, carefully stepping over cables as he looked for his third-in-command, a woman who usually took the night shifts when R was out for some reason. Such as tonight.

“Marcela? Where is Theo?” Q asked, approaching Marcela from behind.  He raised an eyebrow as she jumped, hurriedly shutting a computer window before turning around to face him. “I asked him to find the hard drive that had some personal projects backed up on it,” he clarified, seeing Marcela’s confused expression.

“ _Oh,_ Theo.  Yeah, he left at five, with everyone else,” Marcela admitted, looking uncomfortable. “I didn’t know he was supposed to be doing something for you, do you want me to look for the hard drive?”

Q sighed, shaking his head.  It had been a simple task, to find _one_ hard drive that Q kept separate anyway because it had been his personal work.  Pinching the bridge of his nose in exhaustion before noting that it was almost midnight, he resigned himself to going home alone since there was no point to staying around anymore.  “No, don’t bother, I think I’ll just head home,” he said, taking his glasses off to clean the lenses, hoping that he didn’t sound as down as he felt. Slipping the glasses back on, he smiled at Marcela’s sympathetic expression and said, “I trust that you have everything under control here?”

She nodded eagerly.  “Yes, sir! And Bond will be home before you know it,” she added, barely containing a knowing smirk as Q ducked his head in embarrassment.  “I’m sure he’ll be _very_ happy to see you again.” Grinning now, she added, “Shall I mark you down as absent tomorrow morning, sir?”

Q playfully swatted at her with a file she’d left on the desk, and she let out a slight yelp as she ducked in time to avoid the paper.  “Don’t be getting ideas, Ms. Nicholson,” he warned in a light tone, handing her back the papers.  “I need to maintain some sort of discipline in here so M doesn’t think that we run off and do our own thing when he’s not watching.  In order to do that, I need to be here,” he said as she set the files back down on the desk.

“Don’t we usually run off and our own thing when M’s not watching even when you’re here?” Marcela asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, he doesn’t need to know that,” Q replied, grinning slightly as he turned to walk back to his office.  “Good night, Ms. Nicholson.  If Bond reports in before I come in, please check him,” he said over his shoulder as he headed to his office.

Opening the door again, he walked in and headed to his desk to begin gathering his things in preparation to leave.  Stuffing his laptop into its messenger bag, he started to reach for the Scrabble mug to take it to the kitchen for cleaning.

Only to have his fingers close around empty air.

_What?_

Confused, Q looked around his desk for the mug, almost completely sure that he’d set it down next to the desktop monitor.  Turning around, he set the bag back down on his chair as he looked around the office, brows furrowing when he realized he couldn’t find it.  He made a noise of distress as he opened drawers and moved piles of junk around, searching his desk and the small worktable next to it until he remembered that the cleaning staff could have easily walked away with it, thinking that he was done with it.

“Give up?”

Q nearly jumped out of his skin at the unexpected voice, and whirled around to find James Bond leaning in the doorframe, examining the damn Scrabble mug. The agent raised an eyebrow at Q’s flabbergasted expression, and then said, “For what it’s worth, I came in after you did, so it’s no poor reflection on your inability to see when someone is hanging over your shoulder.”

Q gaped at him for a moment.  “ _James!”_ he blurted out, darting over to the other man. James somehow managed to set the mug off to the side in time to brace himself as Q barreled right into him, arms wrapping tightly around the agent.  Grabbing James’s collar, he pulled James down for a kiss, unable to stop laughing even as the agent pushed him back into the office so he could close the door behind him.  The laughter turned to moans as James nuzzled down Q’s temple and underneath his jaw, teeth brushing lightly against skin.  “James, I missed you,” Q whispered as he leaned back to give the agent access to his neck, his head nearly colliding with the back of the couch as James guided him to lie down.

“I’m right here, I’m right here,” James said softly, the words brushing against Q’s skin before James climbed on top of him and braced himself on his elbows, caging Q in. Lifting his head, Q caught James’s mouth in a kiss, fingers clenching the agent’s collar as James’s right hand wrapped around his neck to hold him there.  His eyes fluttered closed as he felt the warm slide of tongues with the familiar scent of _James_. He could sense the familiar desperation in James’s movements, and reached out to clasp James’s wandering left hand in his own. 

James soon pulled away and rested his forehead on Q’s, nose brushing gently against Q’s own. Q gently interwove his fingers with James’s, smiling softly when he felt the familiar warm metal around James’s finger. “I see you went to Medical,” he said, unable to hide the smug tone from his voice.

James groaned as he moved their hands so he could better balance himself, resting the elbow against the cushion. “Who came up with the idea of O’Reilly holding onto my ring?” he demanded softly, but Q could still see his grin.

“It worked, didn’t it?  You got your ring back, O’Reilly got his checkup, and I got my husband back.  We all won,” Q said, gently bumping noses with James. He frowned momentarily, and then said, “I thought you wouldn’t be back tonight.”

“I called in a few favors, and convinced R to help me surprise you. He’ll give you back your coding programs in the morning,” James said, smirking before leaning down to brush kisses down the side of Q’s neck.  “Right now, though, I’d like to go home because you won’t let me shag you here in your office-”

“James, _you_ didn’t have to face M after he walked in on us that one time…”

“And I said that having one of your staff as a lookout would have been an excellent idea, but you insisted that they had work to do,” James teased, kissing Q one more time before sitting up and getting off the couch, Q pulling himself up until James caught one of his free hands and pulled him to a standing position and into a tight embrace.

For a moment, the two of them stood there, silently reaffirming that the other was actually there and no, neither of them were going to be alone that night. If Q concentrated carefully on the hands that caressed him, he could sense James’s need to confirm that he was alive and well, along with the guilt from having slept with yet another woman while abroad when he knew that Q waited patiently back home for him to return. Q wondered if James could sense his reassurance that yes, he was alive and fine, if James knew of his forgiveness since he knew what James had to do for Queen and country and could never begrudge him for it.

Reaching up, he gently pulled James close for a light kiss, not demanding, just affirming that they were both there.  “Let’s go home, I’ll drive,” he whispered, resting his forehead against James’s own.

James nodded in agreement before stepping away to grab Q’s coat, giving the other man a chance to pick up his messenger bag.  Then, wrapping an arm around James’s waist, Q switched the office lights off on his way out and locked his door.

James wrapped an arm around Q’s shoulders, pulling him close, and the two headed towards the parking garage so they could finally go _home_.


	77. Chapter 77

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Reservation for ten, under Mycroft Holmes.”

“Welcome back, Mr. Holmes. Always a pleasure,” the maître d’ said, bowing to Q as he gathered the menus, bowing to Bond a moment later. “I trust that you and your brothers are doing well?” he asked as he gestured for the two of them to follow him throughout the maze of tables, each one covered with a white tablecloth and a single candle in the middle as they walked towards the back of the restaurant. “And congratulations on your recent nuptials, Mycroft was simply _delighted_ when he informed Mr. Kirkland of the proceedings when they were here last week,” he added, glancing back at Bond as Q slipped a hand into the crook of Bond’s elbow, face turning slightly pink under the soft white lights.

“Hah, I bet he was. And, of course, I see that privacy is still something of an unfamiliar concept to them unless it’s for themselves,” Q muttered under his breath as Bond gently squeezed the hand tucked in his elbow. “I mean, we had a small ceremony with two close friends as witnesses, snuck away _at night and under aliases_ , and I _still_ got a text two days later from Mycroft, asking me to let him know when the honeymoon was over,” he grumbled as the two of them followed the maître d’ towards the back of the expansive restaurant.

“To be fair, it was out of concern for your safety, given that we both registered with our real names and then both spontaneously disappeared at the same time,” Bond gently pointed out, resisting the urge to smooth the scowl away with a thumb. “And I would think that it’s your mother you would want to worry about,” he gently pointed out, Q’s eyes widening before he groaned to himself. 

The maître d’ merely chuckled as he brought them to a long table carefully tucked away in the corner of the table. “I wish you both the best of luck, gentlemen,” he said, gesturing towards the table. Bond scanned the seats, calculating those closest to the window that would still afford him an unobstructed view of the dining room, and then moved to sit in the corner seat, pausing long enough to pull Q’s chair out for him. “Would you two like menus while you wait for your companions, sirs?” the maître d’ said as Bond sat down in his own chair, glancing first at Q before scanning the other diners and then finally settling his attention on the maître d’. 

“Yes, and the wine list, if you are able. We’re actually a bit early, so even Mycroft won’t come for another twenty minutes at least,” Q said, mouth twitching when Bond made eye contact with him, raising a brow. _What are you playing at now, Q?_  

“Very well, please excuse me. Your waiter for the evening will also introduce himself momentarily,” the maître d’ said, bowing once before leaving their table.

The moment the maître d’ turned his back, Bond reached across the table and caught Q’s drumming fingers in both hands, gently wrapping them in his own, stilling them. “Quinn, what’s wrong?” he asked quietly, leaning forward with a familiar fondness and tinge of concern as he ducked his head to try and meet Q’s eyes, which were downturned towards the table surface. “I’ve had dinner with your family before, and nothing went wrong then,” he reminded Q,  grinning slightly when he caught Q’s mouth twitch at the memory. Bond decided not to mention, for his husband’s sake, that it had also been Christmas dinner and it was a near miracle that the three Holmes brothers had walked out of the house alive— _probably because John confiscated Sherlock’s ‘borrowed’ gun beforehand and Lestrade was actually with us that time to placate Mycroft_. “What’s wrong? Is it something from work?” he asked, glancing down the table for any sign of trouble— _ten chairs instead of eight…but that’s the only oddity._

“What? No, no, nothing work-related, thank God. Someone would have my head if that were the case,” Q said, arms jerking as he tried to move— _to rub his temples, he has a headache, which means he’s really stressed out right now_ —but Bond kept a firm grip on Q’s hands. He hesitated, and then looked up at Bond. “You trust me, right?”

“Of course,” Bond replied promptly, brow furrowing in quiet confusion as he watched Q shift uncomfortably in his seat. _Please don’t reveal to me that this has all been a lie_. “Quinn, I trust you with my life,” he said quietly, squeezing Q’s fingers gently between his own.

“I know, it’s just—I wanted to get here before everyone else because there’s something about my family I want to tell you, now that you’re a part of it…um, the person involved said it was all right for me to tell you,” Q said softly, offering a small half smile. Bond nodded once to encourage him, but still Q faltered. “And James…this is something you’d have to guard with your life,” he said, looking up at Bond, who kept his face neutral despite the quiet surprise. “I also understand if you think I’m crazy once I tell you, and I can always ask for a demonstration as proof—”

“Hard to ask for a demonstration for something I don’t know about,” Bond quipped, grinning when Q flushed pink. “I promise I’ll defend this secret so long as it does not compromise the security of this country. Now, start over, at the beginning. I won’t interrupt,” he said in a solemn tone, on the verge of losing his composure when he saw Q’s firm belief and sincerity in the familiar hazel depths. _How serious can this secret be?_

“All right.” For a moment, Q remained silent, but Bond could see the fear and slight anxiety in the other’s eyes. He didn’t speak though, remaining quiet himself as he continued to gently rub Q’s fingers. Q then looked up at him, and then said, “Do you remember two months ago, when Mycroft made a surprise inspection visit to MI6?”

“Yes, M was _furious_ afterwards, Eve said he was ranting for hours after official closing time,” Bond said, recalling the visit in question; he’d been hanging off Q’s desk, mercilessly needling his fiancé as Q playfully scolded him for misbehavior until he’d gone suddenly quiet, turning slightly white when M walked into Q-Branch with Mycroft Holmes and one other man, Arthur Kirkland, in tow. Luckily, the two men had been listening to M, giving Bond a few seconds to straighten himself out and obediently hand over his service weapon in an attempt to cover up any lack of professionalism. “Mycroft was with Arthur Kirkland, the official from the Foreign Offices, right?” he asked, looking back at Q, who nodded.

“It was Kirkland who actually got Mycroft into the government right after Mycroft finished school, so it’s _him_ we can all thank for having a meddling Mycroft in our lives,” Q said, grinning slightly as he spoke. He hesitated, and then he said, “So, following that logic, Kirkland isn’t as young as he looks.”

“Let me guess: the secret you’re about to tell me is the secret to his youth?” Bond said, smirking when Q nodded. “And what secret is that?” he asked patiently, pausing in rubbing Q’s fingers together. “And if you want to back out now…you can still do that, I won’t be offended,” Bond said after a moment when Q remained absolutely still, panic evident in his eyes.

“There’s no really easy way to say this. Arthur Kirkland…he’s not human,” Q said finally in a soft voice, biting his lip when Bond raised his brow. “He’s…he’s this, er, _entity_ that is the human personification of an entire country, England, in this case. He…” Q hesitated, and Bond nodded once to encourage him. “He embodies the people of England, and because of that, he’s as old as the country is. He’s lived since Roman times, um, ask him who his favorite monarch was and you’ll sit through this long-winded history lesson that you know is accurate because _he was there_ ,” Q blurted out, yanking his hands free as he spread them out. “He suffers when the people do, he can’t die or be permanently injured unless something happened to the _land_.” He hesitated, and Bond could only stare at him before Q plunged ahead. “For example, the Blitz in World War Two…London, this city is his heart, all capitols are the hearts of each personification. It took all of Kirkland’s strength just to get through the day, but he had to pretend nothing was wrong to avoid tipping his generals off. So you can only imagine what it was like during the colonial years, when he fought with others—”

“Wait, wait, are _all_ countries in the world like this?” Bond asked, blinking as he tried to comprehend Q’s words. “What about rulers, leaders, what about them?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat.

“They’re the ‘bosses’ of the personifications, but the personification always cares for his or her people first, not the bosses,” Q said, grimacing at the thought. “Needless to say, some leaders forgot about that, and tried to force the personifications to comply with them…” his voice trailed off when he made eye contact with Bond. “You think I’m crazy.”

“No, no, it’s just not what I was expecting, I never would have thought that, er, personifications existed,” Bond said, carefully choosing his words as he tried to puzzle through the confusion and disbelief in his mind. “So when M says, ‘For Queen and Country’, he really means…”

“For Her Majesty and England, and ‘England’ can be interpreted as either the actual landmass or the personification,” Q said, frowning as he looked back at the table. “But as I’ve said before, Kirkland can avoid harm so long as the physical borders are safe.” 

Bond nodded, quietly digesting everything as he leaned back in his chair. He smiled reassuringly at Q, who watched him carefully, hands twitching while still on top of the table. _Still nervous, worried, but telling the truth. God, he’s telling the truth._ He slowly exhaled, blinking as he looked at Q, and then slowly nodded. “And he’s been with your family for how long?” he asked, leaning forward in his chair.

“He wouldn’t say, but I get the feeling it’s at least two or three generations. He’s the only politician who isn’t a part of the Prime Minister’s Cabinet that’s ever had the guts to throw Mycroft out of a meeting before, mostly because they couldn’t agree on several international policies,” Q said, a note of relief audible in his voice. He smiled softly as Bond reached forward and took his hands again, gently kissing his fingertips. “James, you have no idea how relieved I am to finally be able to tell you, so that you know what you’re doing for him every time you go out there,” he said quietly as Bond pressed his lips against the back of Q’s hands.

“And I swear never to reveal his secret,” Bond said, grinning as he released Q’s hands. “Now, you said this applies to _all_ countries?” he asked, raising a brow when Q shrugged.

“There is a personification for every group of people who see themselves as a group. Erm, for example, Sealand is not an official country, but a micronation, yet it has its own personification. But for the sake of a peaceful dinner, we’re not going to mention him to Arthur,” Q said, and Bond nodded in agreement. “Obviously there’s France, Germany, Italy, the Netherlands, Canada—”

“United States?” Bond prompted, and Q nodded. 

“Right. And their ages obviously differ, but that’s another discussion for another time,” Q said, glancing over his shoulder. Bond looked up as well, and saw Kirkland approaching their table, an unfamiliar blond man hanging over one of his shoulders and talking animatedly. He grimaced when the blond man accidentally whacked Kirkland in the shoulder but received a half-hearted smack in response. _Another personification?_

“So then following that logic…” Bond asked, careful to keep his voice down as he watched the two men approach. “How does the ‘Special Relationship’ with the United States work out, if there’s bad blood between us and them from the Revolution? Or is it a different personification from then?” he asked, blinking when Q turned sharply towards him.

“Erm, no, it’s the same American personification that fought in the Revolution, but we don’t mention that either,” Q said, glancing back in time to see Kirkland finally grab the blond’s ear and hold the taller man steady as he hissed something into his ear. “And I still don’t know how alliances between country personifications work in their terms, but the one time I asked, Arthur said it really wasn’t my business. Now of course, one can guess,” he said, fidgeting in his chair as he turned back to face Bond.

_Oh._ “Right. So we just carry on as normal?” Bond asked, turning back to Q.

“Usually. I suspect Kirkland thinks you’ll have questions, so he may be more willing to talk tonight. And you can help the rest of us by cutting alcohol off to both of them after a certain point, Alfred especially doesn’t pay attention to how much he consumes when he gets talkative during dinner. It raised brows at the last restaurant we ate at together,” Q said, grinning, starting to stand up as the two men— _Kirkland with this Alfred, then_ —approached their table.

Bond nodded, grinning once to his husband as he too stood to greet the new arrivals.


	78. Chapter 78

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Mentions of Past Violence

_Objective failed, civilian casualty count still unknown and climbing._

The after-mission reports still floated in Q’s memory as he checked on dinner, the black and white letters still burning in the back of his eyelids as he turned down the crockpot’s burner to a simmer. He paused by his tablet, which he’d left on the kitchen counter, and tossed it into a drawer to resist the temptation to check— _James will come home when he wants to, his flat key is in the equipment locker, as always—_ before heading first to the ensuite bath to check the tub before going to the bedroom to turn the duvet down on James’s side. Then he headed back to the living room, checking that James’s place was set before he served himself some of the stew. Then he retreated to the sofa, nudging aside the pile of clean sheets he’d set aside so he could sit down with his laptop, dinner, and a movie, trying to ignore the small knot of worry in his chest.

_He’s usually gone on an average of five hours, depending on the severity of the mission. I’ll give him six before I pull the tablet out, and keep my mobile at the side table in case he changes his mind and calls before then._

He didn’t remember drifting off, just that the soft murmurs of the characters from the movie on a dimmed screen lulled him to sleep as he listened instead for his mobile. Exhaustion from overseeing three missions at once began to creep into his mind, he barely remembered that two were still running before he finally closed his eyes— _just a few minutes—_ and settled more comfortably in the arm of the couch.

Q only woke up when he realized that there was a hand resting on his throat.

He only inhaled sharply, eyes flying open to peer into the new darkness above him, but otherwise didn’t react, the scarred fingers spreading across his throat and moving lower until they rested flat against his chest. Then the hand shifted again, skin-warmed metal on a finger brushing briefly against Q’s collar as the fingers rested at the pulse points underneath his jaw. Q remained still, heart thudding in his chest as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he became aware of the fact that his laptop was closed, and the half-empty dishes were on the table and not on the floor where he’d left it before falling asleep.

Sixty seconds passed, and he heard a soft exhalation and the fingers disappeared. _James_. Very slowly, Q sat up and glanced carefully at the clock— _01:36_ —and, mindful to keep his hands out, he turned towards his visitor and calmly switched the side table lamp on, feeling a brush of relief when he recognized the torn suit jacket in front of him. Then he looked up, breath catching in his throat when cold blue eyes stared back at him, empty and calculating as Q placed his hands in his lap, casting a surreptitious eye over the agent’s form— _broken arm, steady posture, but the present wedding ring means that he at least saw O’Reilly, even if the doctor gave the ring up without a fight._

_This isn’t James, this is 007_.

Q stood up, ducking his head for a moment to readjust his approach before looking up again, mouth set in a firm line. “Status report?” he asked after a moment, hating that his voice wavered when he glanced down at James’s body again, hating that he couldn’t immediately pull James into an embrace, not when he was facing the Double-O instead of his husband.

“Objective failed, Quartermaster. Lost target, and injured civilians in the process.” James’s voice was curt and cold, and Q resisted the temptation to reach out and pull him into a tight embrace. He saw James’s eyes flicker towards his hand— _he saw the reaction_ —before looking steadily at him. “Intel was lost as was the informant, along with any and all allies recruited to the effort. All equipment was lost in the ensuing explosion.”

“Very well.” _Here comes the tricky part._ Q paused, tilted his head in acknowledgement of James’s response. “Have you gone to Medical?” he asked, looking up in time to see a flicker of something in the blue depths.

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. I assume, then, that Doctor O’Reilly left instructions for your care,” Q said calmly, mindfully keeping his voice steady when he saw the first flash of anger in James’s eyes. “We will take a look at that tomorrow morning. Now, do you want to eat, shower, or sleep, or any combination thereof?” he asked lightly, wincing slightly as he glanced at the kitchen. _Probably should not have left the stove on for so long…_ He looked back sharply when James silently moved to stand between him and the kitchen, already drawing out a scratched Walther and pulling the hammer back. “James, Ja—double-oh seven, there is no one in the kitchen,” he said firmly, ignoring the Walther when James turned back to face him. “I just remembered that I forgot to turn the stove off. Now, decide. Food, shower, or sleep?” he asked, keeping his voice calm and steady.

James quietly regarded him, and then looked back at the table, where his place setting remained. “Shower,” he said finally, and Q nodded. He slipped into the hall ahead of James, moving to the ensuite bath as James shuffled into the bedroom, the door left open between the two of them. Turning the water on, Q checked the temperature and set aside several towels, swallowing back another twist of quiet worry in his heart as he glanced through the door to see that James had only taken his shirt off. James held it in his left hand, staring at it as though it had personally offended him, and then he dropped it and began to slowly take everything else off.

Q hesitated, and then stepped back into the bedroom, careful to make his footsteps audible as he approached James from behind. “Towels are on the toilet, for when you’re done,” he said, glancing up at James the same time the agent did, heart twisting when he saw the first flickers of _pain_ in the agent’s eyes. James seemed to catch himself a moment later, looking away at the bed with its clean sheets. Then he finished getting undressed and shuffled for the ensuite, carefully stepping around Q before closing the door behind him. Q closed his eyes the moment he heard the _click_ of the door lock— _how many times have we done this? Carried on as though he’s broken into my flat like he used to before he moved in, after every bad mission?_

_I can’t leave him alone tonight._

Q carefully twisted the door knob before hearing the _click_ of the lock sliding out of place—he’d had to modify many of the doors in his flat, to ensure that he was always within reach of James after he eventually wandered home—and then quietly pushed the door open. He slipped into the room, aware that James saw him a moment later as he gently supported the agent’s elbow to help steady him. Q remained steady and gentle as he held the shaking limb when James made a half-hearted gesture to push him back towards the door. He steeled himself and easily slid out of James’s reach long enough to deter the agent, stepping in front of him to offer both hands with a slight head tilt towards the tub. “I know you don’t usually want me in here, but at least let me help you for now,” Q said quietly, watching with a tiny twinge of hope when James made eye contact with him. 

James shook his head. “No. I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said, unable to look at Q.

“Then at least let me help you into the tub, so that _you_ don’t get hurt,” Q said, briefly glancing at the scratches that were still bleeding sluggishly on the side of James’s temple. He started to reach for the elbow to help support James, but stopped when James stopped him with a hand to the wrist. “James, I’m only worried you’re going to fall over. May I please help you into the tub?” he asked quietly, feeling rather than seeing James stiffen when he spotted the matching ring on Q’s finger. _James, it’s yours, you gave it to me, please don’t tell me you don’t remember._

“Why do you still put up with me?” James asked after a moment, reaching up to rub the ring between his own fingers.

“Because I love you. In sickness and in health, remember?” Q asked, allowing himself a small smile when James finally allowed him to help him into the tub. James wavered only once, but otherwise remained steady as Q knelt with him to provide support into the tub. Once in the water, James slumped forward as Q reached for the flannels he’d set aside. Q remained quietly grateful that the agent didn’t fight him anymore that night, allowing him to gently scrub the agent down while keeping the broken arm propped up on the edge of the tub. He tried not to look into the water, which had gone from clear to a rusty brown. James kept starting to nod off only to jerk awake a few moments later. “You can sleep in a few minutes,” Q murmured a few moments later, gently squeezing James’s arm in reassurance. “I’ll watch you tonight, you’re safe now.”

“You’ve been watching me for the entire damn mission. You need to sleep too.”

“Mm, but I also need to make sure that my agents are safe and taken care of,” Q replied, voice lowering when James leaned into him, skin warm even through Q’s shirt. “My job is not done until everyone is home safe and—”

James abruptly turned his head and pressed a chaste kiss to Q’s lips.

Q was momentarily surprised, but gently reciprocated, mindful of the broken arm as he let James take the lead, the agent attempting to get closer but ended up splashing them both. “All right, let me finish, and then it’s off to bed,” Q murmured against James’s lips, earning a ghost of a smirk. _He’s coming back to me._  

He didn’t fuss with pajamas as the agent finally climbed out of the tub, instead toweled him off and gave James a clean pair of pants that he’d left in the medicine cabinet—Q had learned the hard way, early on, the consequences of leaving James alone when the agent became tactile again, which had nearly ended with James shooting something. Now, Q remained just within James’s reach as he guided the agent back to bed, trying not to shiver as James ran his hands underneath the T-shirt he’d put on after returning home. He did gently push James’s hands away from the waistband of his sweats, soothing the agent’s grumble of dissatisfaction with a gentle kiss. “Come on, into bed with you,” Q said, mouth twitching when James scrunched up his face at Q’s words. 

“ ’M not a child,” James mumbled even as he allowed Q to nudge him onto his side of the bed, lying down with a groan as his hand tightened around Q’s. “Please stay tonight, I don’t know if I can be alone another night,” he suddenly whispered, Q’s breath catching before he gently squeezed James’s hand in response.

“Let me get into pajamas and turn the stove off fir—”

“I turned it off when I returned home.”

Q blinked. “Oh, thank you. Then I still need to get into pajamas,” he said, already stepping back to hurriedly get undressed. He could feel James’s eyes on his back as he changed, and then carefully slipped into bed on his side, setting his glasses on the bedside table before lying down. _I’ll just slip out the living room if he changes his mind again._ Then James shifted his position to spoon Q from behind, grunting softly when Q nearly crashed into him by accident. “Sorry,” Q whispered as he finally pulled the covers up, aware of James’s hand slipping around his waist and pulling him flush against James’s own body. “I love you, James,” he murmured, eyes fluttering closed as he felt James gently nose against the back of his neck.

He almost missed James’s response, his exhaustion from earlier returning with sudden force and nearly distracting him.

_“I love you too, Alex._ ”


	79. Chapter 79

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_“And for God’s sake, double-oh seven, don’t push that button until—”_

“Major Boothroyd, I always receive a variation of that lecture whenever I go home and my husband sees what’s left of my mobile and tablet. I don’t need to hear it from you too,” Bond snapped without thinking, scowling at the MI6-vetted driver, who flinched at his sharp tone. “He may only be an IT worker at a _real_ shipping company, but he knows his tech just as well as your people do. I get it: don’t press the fucking button until right before I slip the detonator into the mark’s bag and use the five minutes to get at a reasonable distance,” he said, glancing out the rain-splattered car window to see that the two of them were almost to the hotel where the latest mark, a Spaniard named Joaquin Ramirez, had taken residence.

_“Have you told him that I’m interested in meeting him yet?”_

“No.” Bond’s voice came out sharper than he’d intended—he had nothing personal against Major Boothroyd, but the thought of MI6 touching Alex—his Q—with its twisted, bloodstained hands invoked a cold, hypocritical possessive anger that increased his urge to kill someone, preferably the nearest individual until someone made the first move against Q. _You can take what you want from me, but you can’t take my husband, my peace, my sanctuary._ He breathed slowly through his nose, willing his hands to relax so that he didn’t crunch the smartphone in his hands; Q was home safe, bogged down with the weight of his own work for the weekend while under the impression that Bond had left on yet another business trip

Major Boothroyd remained mercifully silent over the earpiece as Bond got out of the car, opening the umbrella before he began walking up the rain-slicked marble steps to the double glass doors. He rolled his shoulders back, allowing them to slouch slightly as he assumed his cover identity of Daniel Whishaw, a banker interested in laundering funds to financially assist Ramirez in exchange for unspecified benefits. 

“Señor Whishaw, welcome to Málaga,” a small man just inside greeted Bond, bowing slightly as Bond closed the umbrella. “I trust that your stay in our beautiful city has been pleasant so far?” he asked as he gestured for Bond to follow him towards the curved staircase past the reception desk.

“Relaxing and informative,” Bond replied, smiling as the man led him to a small door that he hadn’t noticed within the shadows of the curve. “I do not wish to linger much longer, however, as I do have business to take care of in London. I assume that Señor Ramirez is here?” he asked, watching the man carefully as the other nodded while reaching for a ring of keys.

“Of course. He is currently speaking with a hired programmer at the moment, he wants to quietly eliminate any potential threats to his operation so that the two of you may conduct your business without worry, namely that of British and American intelligence agencies,” the man explained quietly as he unlocked the door. “So please just sit down at the table and wait for him to finish with the programmer,” he said, gesturing towards one of the small tables that were in the room. Bond nodded once, tuning the man out as the latter closed the door again. He quietly surveyed the room, noting the small empty tables save for one, which had three table settings in a triangle around the circle. _Who is our third guest?_

“Shit…”

Bond’s head snapped to the right, stopping dead in his tracks when he recognized his husband’s dark floppy hair on the other side of a tall monitor, the blue glow of the screen reflecting in Q’s glasses as he studied something, head bowed forward slightly. _What the fuck is he doing here?_

Bond slowly exhaled, bringing the quiet surge of panic, fear and suspicion back under control so that he could think straight again, bowing his head so that Q couldn’t recognize him immediately if he happened to look up while Bond processed Q’s presence in the room. _There has to be a good reason why he’s here, Christ, I can’t—don’t want to kill him._ Glancing back at Q, he coughed slightly and opened his mouth, closing it when he belatedly remembered that his link to MI6 was still live and there was nothing he could do, not when M would be in Q-Branch to overhear the conversation with Ramirez and bargain with him through Bond.

_What the hell is Q doing here?_

_Fuck it._

“I thought you hated flying,” he remarked, his heart hurting with each word as he kept his expression neutral, even when he saw Q flinch at the words. He tilted his head when Q looked up at him, eyes widening in surprise. “Quite the distance from London, wouldn’t you say?” he suggested, ignoring the soft murmurs of confusion over his earpiece as he took a few steps closer to Q, who frowned as he set down the objects in his hands.

“James? What the hell are _you_ doing here? I thought you had a business trip,” Q said, eyes scanning Bond until he made eye contact, his surprise turning to confusion and delight, the latter of which sent a muted stab of pain in Bond’s chest. His gun suddenly felt heavy in its shoulder holster as Bond approached the two monitors. “And yes, I do hate flying, which is why I took a train. Had this trip planned for weeks, but didn’t say anything because you said you were going away this weekend, so I didn’t think it would be an issue…and don’t look at me like that, James, you _know_ that I do commission work on top of my usual workload,” he said, the delight fading into confusion as Bond reached out and gently caught his chin, forcing him into look into Bond’s eyes. “James? Is something wrong?” he asked after a moment as Bond studied his eyes— _please don’t let him die, don’t let him be on the wrong side._

“No, I just—” Bond faltered, ignored the stunned silence on the other end of his earpiece. He shook his head and said, “What are you doing here?”

“File retrieval, Ramirez approached me a few weeks ago saying that a London-based company had stolen his work and planned to sell it off as their own, a former client had referred him to me,” Q replied immediately, brows knitting together as he maintained eye contact. “James, what’s going on?” he asked, straightening when Bond released him. “Do you want to see my notes and conversations? James, what’s going on?” he asked, taking a half-step back as he glanced down at the monitors. Bond watched as Q almost absently raised his hands away from the keyboards, his face sliding from confusion to terror.

“How were you unable to keep from being caught?” he asked, almost feeling a twinge of guilt when Q looked up, fear and hurt evident on his face.

“I thought I was being careful, it was usually just retrieving stolen data because I know the frustration of having your files stolen and never recovered. But that was the extent of it,” Q said, looking back down at his monitor. “The company—Universal Exports, should I stop now?” he said, looking up at Bond, whose suspicion melted to fear; _he’s telling the truth, God, he’s telling the truth_. “James? Should I stop getting into the system?”

“Stop right now and pull out, and make something up, buy time if you have to, I’ll get us out of here,” Bond said, ignoring M’s sharp noise of disapproval on the other end of the line. “Just _don’t hack Universal Exports_ , we can’t let Ramirez in—Alex, Ramirez is an internationally wanted terrorist who has just been very careful about staying out of the news, and he is using you to hack into a British intelligence agency,” Bond said, ignoring M’s hiss of ‘ _Bond!’_ over the link. He looked down a moment later to see that he had taken Q’s upper arms, and was holding him tight; with a familiar smile that twisted Bond’s heart, Q reached up and rested his hands on top of Bond’s, hands shaking only slightly as Bond watched Q duck his head, regaining his composure.

“You’re not a security officer, then, are you?” Q asked, raising a brow. Bond was quietly relieved to see that the terror had faded behind the calm that Bond had grown accustomed to over their two years of marriage. Bond slowly shook his head, and Q nodded. “I didn’t think so.”

“What made you think that?” Bond asked, frowning.

Q hesitated, and then sighed. “There was a gun taped underneath your bedside table, I found it because I was looking for my pants…which were for some bizarre reason under _your_ side of the bed,” he said, ducking his head as Bond spotted the dusting of pink across his cheeks. “I looked up the model, found it to be a Walther PPK. I thought that you were either in the mafia, a serial killer, a contract killer, or that worried about your safety,” he said, glancing up at Bond. “I, erm, didn’t say anything, I thought I would let you bring it up if you were ever ready—”

“Contract killer, and I’m more worried about your safety than mine, but I’ll explain better if we make it out of this meeting alive,” Bond said, glancing back at the table with the three place settings. Shaking his head, he said, “Just… just play along, my name is Daniel Whishaw and he thinks I’m a banker.”

Q nodded. “Of course.” He offered his hand, and then said, “Alexander Winfield, at your service, sir.”

“Daniel Whishaw,” Bond replied, shaking the hand right as they both heard the doorknob turn behind him. With one final glance at Q, who looked up past him, Bond finally turned around to greet the newcomer.

Ramirez smiled as he closed the door behind him, nodding once towards Bond. “Mr. Whishaw, it is an honor to finally meet you in person,” he said, gesturing towards the table. “Shall we begin our discussion?” he asked, pulling a chair out. “Mr. Winfield, he’s just a contracted programmer, will join us once he’s finished retrieving the specified files that Universal Exports stole from me recently,” he said as Bond sat down in the offered chair.

It took all of Bond’s willpower to focus on Ramirez, and not Q behind him.

_I have to get him out of here._

* * *

“So do we have a deal?”

“Of course,” Bond said, rising his half-filled wine glass in response to Ramirez’s, listening to soft _ting_ of glass connecting before they both took a sip. Not for the first time during their meeting, Bond flicked his gaze towards Q, who remained at the computers, brow furrowed in concentration as he calmly typed something on the keyboard, eyes darting between two of his three screens. He felt something cold curl in his gut when Ramirez turned in his chair to follow his line of sight, and then let out a soft snort of dismissal before turning back to his wine. 

“I wouldn’t worry about him, he’s harmless. Came highly recommended from a colleague who had had the opportunity to work with him, oh, four years ago,” Ramirez said, shrugging a shoulder as Bond did the math in his head; he had dated Q for about a year and a half, and the two were approaching their second wedding anniversary within the next few weeks. _Six months then, before we even met_. “Unfortunately he’d married in the meantime, so we had to plan our chats around his husband’s schedule. He said his husband is a lowly security guard in the Foreign Services Office, so no threat there,” he said, straightening in his chair as Bond nodded once in vague agreement.

_No threat indeed._ “And what is he doing for you now?” he asked, resisting the urge to sigh with relief when M _finally_ stopped arguing with Major Boothroyd on their end of the link.

Ramirez glanced over his shoulder before leaning closer to Bond. “Retrieving MI6 files while under the impression that he’s retrieving work that Universal Exports stole from me. He’s more naive than I thought he would be, having worked with my colleague before, but I’m not complaining,” he whispered to Bond, glancing over his shoulder at Q again. Bond merely nodded, stomach still churning as he raised his glass for another sip of wine.

“Sir?”

The two men looked up to see Q watching them from behind his computers, face somewhat paler than what Bond knew was normal, but still managing a smile as he inclined his head towards Ramirez. “I managed to get into Universal Exports’ firewalls, and have noticed that it is actually a satellite network for another organization, one I haven’t identified yet. But I have started filtering through their servers for the information database,” he said, hazel eyes flickering towards Bond before returning to Ramirez. “It will take, however, about one to two hours to conduct the search for the correct database at a time, especially since according to your list, the files seemed to be scattered about,” he said, holding up a packet.

“Of course, take what time that you need. Do come join us for dinner, I just need to excuse myself to speak with Luíz and double check that our security is tight for this evening, I won’t sleep well otherwise,” Ramirez said, gesturing towards the third place setting. “Mr. Winfield, are there any food allergies I should bring to the cook’s attention?” he asked pleasantly as Q set the packet down on the table.

_Don’t tell him, Alex, he will use that against you if he finds out about your deception. Please don’t tell him._

“Shellfish and tree nuts,” Q replied, missing Bond’s grimace as he gingerly approached the chair that Ramirez offered. “I do apologize if that inconveniences the cook, I can easily settle with a soup,” he said, taking the offered chair and sitting down next to Bond.

“Nonsense, I will pass the information along to the chef. Please excuse me,” Ramirez said with a smile as he stood up, nodding once to Bond as he left the room, the door closing behind him with a soft _snap_.

Bond slowly exhaled, feeling the tension drain only slightly out of his shoulders as he turned back to Q, who swallowed and let his shoulders slump forward. Bond instinctively reached out and rubbed Q’s shoulder, anger at himself curling in his gut when he felt that Q was trembling underneath his hand. “Alex, everything is going to be all right, I promise to explain everything once we get home,” he said, keeping his voice steady even as he knew he was lying through his teeth— _how many is that now?_ —but reinforced the lie with a soft smile. He hesitated, painfully aware that M was still on the line, and then quietly asked, “How far did you really get into the servers?”

“Far enough to know that Universal Exports is a dummy corporation and someone’s satellite network, I didn’t go any farther, but there’s only so much stalling I can do until he starts to get suspicious,” Q whispered, voice strained as he glanced back at the computers.

_I have to finish the mission, but get Q to safety first._ He hesitated, and then pulled Q into a hug, Q tightening his arms as he tried to get closer. Careful to keep Q’s head on the left shoulder, Bond reached up with a hand to the earpiece in his right ear and said, “Major Boothroyd?”

Abrupt silence. Then: “ _Ah, yes, double-oh seven? How may I help you?”_

“In order to get my husband out of here, I need you to give him something to show to Ramirez. Anything that will throw Ramirez off,” Bond said quietly, ignoring the way that Q stiffened in his embrace.  “I will stay behind and complete the mission as ordered, but I need you  to help me get him out of here first,” he added, his arm tightening unconsciously around Q’s torso as Q shifted to get into a more comfortable position. 

Major Boothroyd didn’t reply at first, and Bond frowned as he let Q go; the other gently pushed himself up and leaned back to pull his chair closer to Bond. Bond glanced down in time to see the plain gold band that Q had worn since Bond gave it to him, the band that matched the one Bond reluctantly took off before each mission and left in his personal effects box back in his MI6 locker. He glanced at Q in time to see the other man carefully reach out and clasp his left hand, gently kissing each fingertip as he’d done each night before bed— _I’m here, I trust you_ —before wrapping Bond’s hand in his own, gently rubbing the scarred skin.

“ _All right, I think I can come up with something,”_ Major Boothroyd said, voice slow and careful. Bond narrowed his eyes, which caused Q to pause, but he turned his hand around in Q’s to gently clasp his husband’s fingers, his only way to reassure the other man that he was not angry at him. “ _I’ll provide something to keep Ramirez interested, under the condition I get to meet him in person, with you present of course, once you both return to London.”_

“No.” Q pulled away at Bond’s sharp reply, watching quietly as Bond scowled and hunched forward. “Absolutely not. I know you, Boothroyd, you’ll try to recruit him and when that doesn’t work, you’ll use something against him—” he snarled, pulling away as Q tried to reach out with a comforting hand to the shoulder. He stood up and took a step away from Q and whispered, “I’ve told you time and time again, Boothroyd, I don’t want to run the risk of taking that fucking choice of his career path away from him.”

“ _That’s why you’ll be present too, to keep me in check. I just really, really want to ask him about some of the inventions you’ve told me about. If you’re that worried about recruitment, it’s, erm, the other person in the room with me that you should worry about.”_

M. Bond let out a slow breath through clenched teeth, staring at the carpeted floor as he tried to think of another bargain, something else that would entice Boothroyd over this offer.  Anything, possibly anything other than Boothroyd’s offer…which was likely also M’s idea, since she was probably still standing over Boothroyd’s shoulder. _Definitely not the guaranteed return of equipment then, God knows I should be doing that anyway. And I can’t suggest either that I—_

“James?”

He looked up to find Q calmly watching him. “I’ll meet with him, this Boothroyd of yours,” he said, watching Bond with a soft half-smile that Bond only ever saw when Q was trying to calm him down…or when he was placing his full trust into Bond’s hands during a particular matter. “Anything it takes to get of here,” he said, nose wrinkling slightly as he always did when trying to delicately address an issue— _such as getting away from a terrorist alive, and I’m not logistically in the best position to manage it on my own._ He looked up to see Q approaching him, glancing once at the main door before he reached out to Bond, who took advantage of the proximity for a quick kiss to Q’s forehead.

Then he straightened. “Boothroyd, our relationship may never recover from this, but I— _we—_ accept your bloody offer. Just give Alex something fake and to give to Ramirez so that he may walk away,” he said, watching Q, who nodded once. “Something that he can show and pass any tests.”

“ _Of course, double-oh seven. I look forward until your return._ ”

“Of course you do,” Bond muttered as he turned back to Q. “Major Boothroyd will help us, he’ll indicate what is safe for you to take from the MI6 servers,” he said quietly, gesturing for Q to sit down again before he moved back to his own seat, pulling the chair down and sitting back down with an audible sigh.

Q nodded, starting to follow him when he abruptly stopped, eyes widening in shock behind his frames

“Wait, you work for _MI6?_ ”

Bond shrugged. “Close enough for the Foreign Offices to not be a major stretch from the truth,” he pointed out as Q sat down. “Like I said, I’ll explain everything once we’re not in danger of being killed,” he added, quirking a small grin as Q shook his head, his smile visible on his far as he sighed and rested his chin on a palm.

“You know this doesn’t get you out of dishes on your night to clean, right?” he asked, grinning when Bond grimaced while leaning back in his chair to finish the wine in his glass.

“The thought never crossed my mind,” Bond assured him, feeling…better, for the first time since he had left London for the mission.

_Although, we’re not out of danger yet._


	80. Chapter 80

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Double-oh seven disappeared when he completed his mission last night.”

“Of course he did, he must have finally decided that he hadn’t given me enough trouble in the last three weeks,” Q grumbled as he readjusted his bag strap on his shoulder, walking around his workstation and powering up the monitor without taking his coat off. A quick search for James’s tracker brought up a hotel dumpster in Berlin. “He’s not in there?” Q asked, closing the program and pulling up another active Double-O mission as R nodded in confirmation. “Well, he’s on his own then unless he blows something up, then I want some satellite image to confirm that he’s still alive,” he said, finally moving towards his office as he gestured for R to take over his position at the monitor.

“You’re not worried at all that he’s dead?” R asked, arching a brow.

“Did any of the biotrackers go off? He technically doesn’t know about those, but they don’t have tracking capabilities,” Q said without looking at his second-in-command as he typed in his office passcode. “Some natter about overloading the circuitry and putting risk to the agent, O’Reilly insisted that I keep that feature off the device,” he added, glancing over his shoulder as his door opened.

R nodded. “Well, the volunteers didn’t have any problems testing those,” he said, leaning against the work station.

“It was either that or suffer the consequences from O’Reilly. I don’t know what he does as punishment, and nor do I _want_ to know. James would never let it go, if he knew that I did something stupid like that,” Q said, unconsciously rubbing his forearm where he’d inserted his own test trackers…and subsequently removed them two weeks later. “But he allowed for agent use once I took the indicated features off, which wasn’t difficult at all, so just keep an eye on Bond’s vitals and tell me once you have a visual on him.”

“Of course, sir.”

Q entered his darkened office, resting his bag on the in-office futon and hanging his coat up on the hook behind his desk chair. Even in the gloom, he could see the stack of paperwork in one of the two metal wire trays, and he closed his eyes to swallow back the dread and nausea— _I don’t want to spend a rare sunny Friday in my office doing paperwork_. Stifling a sigh, he turned and went back to the door to flip the light switch, and adjusted his glasses as he returned to the desk. He picked up the first few papers, making a face when he recognized the quarterly budget report requests on top of brand new requisition forms. _Just in time for James to drag home whatever is left of his lovely, pricey equipment._ He knelt to be eye-level with the desk, estimating the top third of paperwork before pulling it off the stack. Then he looked up at the clock and estimated that he had about four or five hours before lunch, barring any emergency, to get the first third of the stack done.

_And maybe I can sneak onto the rooftop for the second third, after lunch._

James most likely wouldn’t be home that evening either, which left Q with the final third for after dinner and once again back in his office. Then he would go home.

_Perfect. And I’ll just keep an ear out for double-oh four and eight, in case R needs my assistance with them._

Q smiled to himself, and then began sorting out the paperwork into three neat stacks, planning to send the first two back to proper receivers before the day shift ended for those in HR, Treasury, and most likely Administration.

Without warning, two firm arms slid around his waist from behind, and Q squawked at the unfamiliar gesture, stiffening as a solid, warm body pressed up against his from behind. “Hello, darling,” James murmured into his ear before pressing a kiss against Q’s temple. 

“James! I swear, one day, I swear I will—” Q began even as he felt James’s mouth slide into a smile against his skin.

“Shhh, my dear Quartermaster, keep going like that and I might not give you my present after all,” James said, clasping his own hands around Q’s waist before he pulled Q against his own body. “And to think I went through all this trouble to bring it home for you too,” he teased, loosening his arms enough for Q to turn around in his embrace and face him.

“If it’s the pieces to your Walther again, I’m not interested. I already have to put in a new order for a tracker on you, that means an extra ninety minutes with O’Reilly,” Q scolded, blindly reaching back for one of his neat stacks and waving the paper in front of James. He flushed when he realized he was waving the preliminary numbers for Q-Branch salaries for the pay period about to end, and then threw it back on the desk. “And apparently I’m now going to consider hiring a secretary, I’m drowning in paperwork,” he said, raising a brow when James scowled and then pulled him into a tighter embrace, tucking Q’s head underneath his chin. “Double-oh seven, I—you are too professional to be _jealous_ of someone I haven’t even approached M about hiring,” he snapped, trying to push James away only to succeed pushing him back as far as the agent’s locked arms allowed.

James shrugged. “I didn’t say anything,” he said instead, reaching into his jacket for his shoulder holster. “Anyway, here it is,” he said, grinning as he set the fully intact Walther PPK on Q’s desk. “Join me for lunch?” he asked, shifting so that he rested both hands on the edge of Q’s desk, remaining at eye-level with Q.

Q felt his mouth twitch. “Of course, but get out of my office so I can get some work done _and_ check your weapon in,” he said, leaning forward for a quick peck on the cheek. James grinned, and obeyed, reciprocating the kiss before excusing himself from the office. Q watched him leave, a smile still on his face even as he turned back to the three stacks of paperwork on his desk.

Then, with a sigh, he shifted the papers into four stacks, and made a mental note to prioritize the papers so he could get the other two stacks done tomorrow. 

_I want to go home with James, on time tonight._


	81. Chapter 81

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Past Major Character Death
> 
>  **Notes:** Continuation of [Chapter 67](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3464897/chapters/8692660)

“Are you sure this is the address?”

“According to the GPS location that Q-Branch pulled up from triangulating the mobile’s signal, it should be,” Bond said, looking up at the few buildings surrounding the harbor. He glanced at Felix Leiter, who raised a brow, but then he turned back to the building overlooking the blue waters of the Charles River. _‘Secret’ home of the local FBI branch, M will have my head if we’re caught here._ He glanced back at the swarm of tourists braving the unusually warm day for overpriced attractions and refreshments while also providing his cover for the imminent break-in. He checked his mobile one final time, noting that the GPS coordinates, which Marcela kept updated for him, remained fixed on the opposite side of the facility.

_If he’s not there now, then he was definitely there at some point in the last three days._

“Well, if you’re that sure, then let’s do this, and do it quickly before the local captain gets suspicious of us hanging around,” Felix said, glancing warily up at the windows. “Technically you’re on leave and I’m in South America arranging for the arrest of a rogue informant, and both our bosses will have our hides if the FBI catches and arrests us just because _you_ assumed that someone you thought was dead was supposedly on their property,” he muttered under his breath as he fell into step beside Bond, taking the lead when they reached the edges. “Just stay behind me, the more cameras we avoid, the less questions we get later.” He hesitated, and then asked, “Why do you think Q would come _here_ , from Cairo of all places?”

“I don’t know, I honestly don’t know,” Bond replied, dropping his voice when he saw shadows along the water-slicked concrete around the corner of the facility: guards or sailors, but someone he didn’t want to meet. He’d thought getting past the gate would be the hardest part of the impromptu mission, but Felix had brought in another angle he hadn’t considered before: the Americans. There was only so much that Felix could do if they were caught, but Bond wasn’t keen on figuring out the limits of Felix’s influence just yet.

Instead of running the risk of heading straight into trouble, Bond instead chose to go through the nearest access door, nearly losing Felix. Felix managed to catch the door and keep it from closing with a loud _slam_ , and scowled briefly at Bond before taking the lead in the hall once more. _Custodial access_ , if Bond had to guess from the numerous large rubbish bins and recycling bins all almost completely full of debris. He swallowed back the urge to reach out and check through the bags, in case something of Q’s was in there to confirm the Quartermaster’s presence.

“James.”

He blinked, stopped when he realized that he had been reaching for the lid of the nearest bin. Shaking his head, he moved to follow Felix, ignoring the other’s questioning glance. _I just need a tangible sign that he’s here, something that I can use as another clue if the occasion calls for it. I don’t want him to be dead, not now, please not when there’s a chance he could still be alive._ Bond briefly closed his eyes, calling to mind the few satellite images he’d asked Marcela to pull up moments prior to his departure. Even though seeing the wreckage again in less than twenty-four hours had reopened his barely-calmed grief, he’d forced himself to focus for any signs of scavengers locating a survivor or corpse that the International Red Cross had missed during their daily excavation work even though the time had long passed that there would be any survivors. Q had no recorded family, only because he and Bond had wanted to keep their relationship private, so the chances of someone missing him had increased from that alone. _Only because no one would think to ask for him, and I was not permitted to leave Medical for several weeks._

_Not to mention that Marcela hasn’t called with news of another call yet._

“Looks like someone is prepared for an emergency.”

Bond glanced to his left, and paused in his tracks when he realized that he was staring into a pristine operating room through a large observation window. He glanced to his right and blinked when he saw empty hospital beds with curtain partitions, all of the curtains pulled to the side to reveal several rows of beds in what Bond had initially thought was a smaller room. “It makes sense, really to have the medical facilities on ground level so that you can get patients there quicker. What _doesn’t_ make sense are the observation windows,” he said, glancing between the two rooms.

“Unless this medical facility isn’t reserved for the agents here, but rather any prisoners that find their way here,” Felix suggested, leaning forward towards the window that overlooked the beds. “The CIA has that sort of thing, safe houses located near airports and other entries into all of the states. That way, we can get a criminal quickly and quietly into custody without risking civilians, and still buy time to arrange for transport to a proper prison or holding facility so that we can commence with any necessary interrogations,” he said, tapping the glass. “The windows allow for us to keep an eye on the prisoners while they’re being treated, they don’t always come quietly with us.”

“Felix, I thought this was the FBI not the CIA,” Bond said, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.

“Still the same idea, but with an extra step. Bring in the prisoner, and then call in someone who knows what to do with the prisoner,” Felix said, not missing a beat as his brows knitted together. “Which means there’s most likely a temporary holding room somewhere down here, although why they would treat Q as a prisoner is beyond me given that he’s a registered MI6 employee, an American ally.”

“Unless he was unconscious and couldn’t respond,” Bond said slowly, hope bubbling in his chest at the thought. “Think about it Felix. He was close to the center of an explosion that took out almost an entire block in Cairo. By the time the Red Cross and other relief groups arrive, the first responders have already been there and most likely encountered remnants of the enemy, so heavier reinforcements are also there. He doesn’t have his glasses because I do, he’d be unconscious long enough to be written as one of the attackers…” Bond’s voice trailed off as he turned to look down the hall.

Then, without thinking, he took off for the double doors at the end.

“James, wait!”

_He’s probably here, God, he’s probably here_. 

Bond shouldered the doors open, calmly turning to face the surprised guard who had been walking towards him when Bond arrived. Bond acted first, driving his fist into the man’s nose with as much force as he could muster. The guard didn’t have a chance to even yelp, falling backwards and landing with a _thunk_ and _clatter_ as his rifle fell from his slack grip. Bond knelt and picked up the man’s rifle and radio, turning the volume up as he heard the doors open behind him. His grip on the rifle tightened for a brief second, but then he realized when he saw that it was only Felix. “Oh, it’s just you,” he said before going back to calibrating the radio.

“James, what the—what are you doing?” Felix asked, frowning as he gingerly nudged the guard with a foot. He looked up at the burst of static-filled chatter from the radio, and then glanced down the hall. “James, we don’t even know if this is where he was held, and now we’ve knocked someone out,” he said, grimacing as Bond looked down first the hall that the guard had come from, and then back down the other way. 

“No…but the coordinates came from this area of the building,” Bond said, checking to make sure that the rifle was ready before stepping over the guard and walking in the same direction. “Do you want to split up or stay together?” he asked, glancing back at Felix, who made a face before shaking his head.

“Together. Because you’re armed with a rifle and I’m armed with the clearance. Let’s go,” he muttered, shaking his head as he moved to follow Bond.

Bond merely nodded as well before turning to continue the walk.

He could hear his footsteps echoing against the walls, the damp, salty air clinging to his clothes and exposed skin as he paused by the first door, an gray indentation with a barred window at eye-level in the semi-darkness. A lightbulb sputtered as he peered into the cell, jaw twitching when he saw the empty concrete floor and the window overlooking the river. His breath caught when he had a sudden mental image of Q sitting, huddled and nearly blind in a corner as he waited for his captors to come for him, and he exhaled sharply before moving onto the next cell.

Nothing.

Bond was only vaguely aware of Felix behind him as he kept checking doors, his hope sinking with each empty cell as his anxiety for Q rose. Finally, with a frustrated growl, he reached the last door in the row, prepared to only do a quick sweep of the room before heading back to the middle in order to start the other side.

This one, being closest to the water, had a long puddle reaching from one side of the cell to the other, the sunlight dancing across the water surface as drops fell from the ceiling. Bond wrinkled his nose before releasing a sigh, swallowing back the disappointment as he glanced back down the long corridor— _there’s another row of cells to look through. There’s still a chance he’s here._ He checked the radio and then slowly began to follow Felix when a small black object caught his eye.

Bond frowned, peering in the cell at the black object that was in the darkest corner of the room, half-sitting in a puddle of water. HE checked the door handle, simultaneously relieved and anxious to find that it was unlocked, and then pushed the door open, wincing at the loud _creeeeak_ that echoed down the hall.

“Did you find something?” Felix asked quietly as Bond knelt by the object and carefully reached out to pick it up with two fingers, grimacing when he felt something sticky.

Bond didn’t reply, just picked up the oblong object and set it down on dry ground. He washed his fingers in the water puddle, his frown deepening when he realized that the black sticky stuff had not only covered the entire object, but it flaked off in the puddle. Setting the rifle down, he carefully fiddled with the object until he heard a _crick_ , and the object split itself in half to reveal a small screen and keyboard.

_A flip phone. Disposable from the looks of it._

Heart thudding in his chest, he gingerly wiped off the screen to find that it was actually still on despite sitting in water for an indeterminable length of time. Water dripped from the device as he navigated to the contacts list to find it empty, and then moved to recent calls.

There was only one outgoing call made in the last three days. To _his_ number.

_Q had been here._

Bond didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; instead, he remained still in his crouch, staring at the mobile, trying to reconcile himself with the undeniable fact in his hands that Q was still alive…he had to still be alive to make the call to a private number that wasn’t programmed into the device.

_Oh God, hang in there, Q. I’m coming, I’m coming._


	82. Chapter 82

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None
> 
>  **Notes:** Continuation of [Chapter 36](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3464897/chapters/8148690)

“Sir, please stay here while I go and bring the car around.”

“Of course,” Q said, wrapping his coat around himself tighter as his escort glanced around, concealing his nerves well as he touched Q’s shoulder in a quiet reminder to stay put before he disappeared, the car keys jangling in his wake. Q remained standing at the curb, scanning the numerous people still milling about on the walk even this late in the evening as he listened to the soft murmur of French around him _._ He took a step back to allow a couple behind him move forward to collect their car, still feeling calm despite the overall exposure— _James has to be somewhere nearby, I just don’t know where._ Shaking his head, feeling the twinge of guilt that had been plaguing him since earlier that afternoon, he started to turn back to the restaurant in order to wait inside.

Only to feel a strong arm wrap around his waist a second later.

“What the— _help!”_ Q squawked as someone pulled him back sharply, jerking when he collided into the stranger behind him. _Shit, shit, shit, I’m firing the escort and killing James later for not showing up if I ever manage to make it back to London._ He tried to lurch forward, his next cry for help stifled when the man wrapped a firm hand— _gunpowder, smoke, and a familiar cologne_ —around his mouth and pressed his head against a firm chest. Q was vaguely aware of screaming and shouting, flinching when there was a gunshot in the air, and then somehow avoided whacking his head on the frame of the backseat door as his assailant shoved him into the car. Q shot up right as the door closed, jumping when his head hit the ceiling of the car with a _whump._ “James…that was completely _unnecessary!_ ” he snapped as he spotted the familiar blue eyes under the tip of a unfamiliar (most likely stolen) black cap.

“You might want to buckle in,” he said, grinning briefly as he closed the door to the backseat, firing the gun into the air once more as several people attempted to approach him. Q shrank against the door, heart thudding in his chest as James fired over the car, eliciting more screams as he opened the driver’s door and slid into the seat. “Either buckle yourself in or brace yourself, I want to see how serious this pup is about his job,” he said, glancing over his shoulder before shifting the gear and accelerating into traffic just as Q attempted to push himself up.

“James!” Q squawked as he nearly tumbled off the seat altogether. “James, M is going to kill _all_ of us when we get back to London and he finds out that it was _you_ and not a real threat that—” His words disappeared as he scrambled back onto the seat, only to duck a second later as a bullet tore through the back window.

“Better me than a real threat,” James said, jerking his head to avoid the bullet, which narrowly missed the controls and instead hit the radio. “Tch, his aim is off _and_ he’s shooting blindly into a car that he knows you’re in,” he said, straightening in his seat again as he glanced in the rearview mirror. “Has he learned _anything?_ Keeping you alive should be his main priority, and that includes not taking chances when you’re a hostage.”

Q stared at him as he remained on the ground. “James, _if he gets me killed_ —”

“No, he won’t, because I’m about to lose him,” James interrupted, turning the car sharply, weaving his way around the blocks, his brow twitching every so often as he glanced calmly in to the rearview mirror. Q watched him for a few moments, laying on the floor of the car as he tried not to focus so much on the car’s movements. He dared not sit up; he trusted James’s skills, but refused to risk losing his life to an inexpert shooter that James seemed confident of losing. James didn’t even seem concerned, eyes focused on the road but not narrowed as Q studied his expression. He frowned when he saw the dyed hair, noting that the agent’s natural blond was beginning to show at the roots— _the dye going to be a nightmare to clean out._ Q looked away only when the car hit a pothole, and he had to reach out and stabilize himself to avoid rolling underneath by accident and getting scrunched there.

He didn’t realize how tensed up he was, crunched in the bottom of the car, until James finally slowed down and made one final turn before turning the engine off. Q stretched stiff arm muscles, bowing his head as he tried to reclaim his breath and nerves. “M will kill me for daring you, and you for actually going ahead with it,” he managed to say as he glanced up to find that James had twisted in his seat to look down at him, a faint, mischievous grin playing around his lips.

“Oh, but we haven’t finished yet, Quartermaster,” James said, grinning broadly as he slowly unbuckled his safety belt. Q frowned at him in confusion, mouth twitching as he tried to maintain the scowl when James winked before getting of the driver’s seat and casually moved over to the passenger door. “I’ve always been curious about the one man who easily brought down my rivals without ever leaving the hallowed halls of Vauxhall Cross,” he said as he opened the door, leaning on the frame with a faint smirk. “The one man who could bring _me_ down.”

_Oh, we’re playing that game?_ Q offered an innocent smile and reached out for James’s extended hand, his slim fingers sliding into the familiar roughened grip. “I don’t know, Mr. Bond, my employers at Vauxhall Cross will be searching for me soon, your days of wreaking havoc are numbered. I should warn you that you’re wasting your time seeing as I will not be giving you any information any time soon,” he said, allowing James to help him out of the car, a hand sliding around his waist and underneath his shirt before James pulled him flush against his body.

“What if…you stayed for dinner, and we…discussed things, like normal adults? You haven’t even heard what I’m willing to offer in exchange for valuable secrets,” James murmured into his ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down Q’s spine. He nearly jumped when he felt James press an oblong object into his hand. “You can even call your employer and tell him that you’re safe and sound,” he said, his mouth sliding into another smile against Q’s cheek as he leaned forward to nuzzle the crook of Q’s neck _._

_Alert M that you’re all right and safe_.

“I suppose I could spare the evening, just to humor you with your proposal,” he said, eyes fluttering closed as James gently bit the skin. “Just…just need to reassure the boss first,” he added, breath hitching when he felt James’s nose run along his collarbone before settling in the hollow of his throat, aware of a rumbling sound from James’s chest as he gently worried the skin between his teeth. “ _James,_ not in day—”

“Don’t care, we’ll be inside soon enough,” James muttered, breaking character for a moment. “Honestly, I want to see how far we can get before the pup shows up, he’s probably panicking right now because R said that they use me to threaten the escorts should something bad happen to you,” he murmured before Q caught his face in two hands and kissed him, groaning as James reached up and wrapped his hair around his fingers and tugged gently on the strands.

“Then I expect food before you do anything else,” Q said, grinning slightly as he pulled back to meet James’s brilliantly blue eyes, lit with mischief, lust and fondness. “After all, I want to hear your ridiculous proposal,” he said, tapping James’s nose before retracting his finger right as James pretended to attempt catching it with his lips.

“Very well, Quartermaster, allow me to assist you,” James said, his hands retreating until the one around Q’s waist remained. Q moved when James gently nudged him forward, smiling even as he leaned his head against James’s shoulder and texted R that he was all right, and that 007 wanted to do an impromptu training session with the escort. Then he turned the mobile off and handed it back to James, discreetly slipping it into the agent’s pocket as he listened to James’s ‘plan’, fighting back his own smile at the convoluted and detailed attempt at world domination that was undoubtedly born from the numerous ‘plans’ James had faced during his years of service. He felt safe, happy even as the two of them walked towards a two-storey home that Q suspected James had been staying in while working here.

_Oh God, James, I missed you._


	83. Chapter 83

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

_Beep! Beep! Beep! Beeeep!_

Bond jerked awake at the shrill beeps coming from his bedside table, momentarily disoriented in the darkness of an unfamiliar flat. He stifled a groan as he rubbed his eyes, body stirring slightly as snatches of memory from earlier— _bare skin, soft pants, a squirming body underneath_ —before he turned onto his side, dimly noting the scattered clothes at the foot of the bed as he fumbled for his mobile. He vaguely recognized the cardigan sleeve sticking out from underneath his suit jacket, both of which were partially hidden by the duvet that had fallen off at some point in the night. His fingers finally brushed the smooth edge of his mobile on the other side of the bedside table, and he grasped the device as he forced himself to sit up. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he froze when he saw the Eiffel Tower through the crack of the curtains in the bedroom window, still glittering in the lightening sky.

_Paris. I’ve been in Paris for the last two months now looking to kill the leader of the Edinburgh crime syndicate, who is in Paris personally overseeing the shipment of weaponry to Union Corse._

He looked down at the new text message: _Status update? Mum is getting impatient._

Eve: no one else other than Bond himself would dare to address M as ‘Mum’. He typed out his response— _Only found the syndicate’s SIC and Quartermaster in command ring, searching for info on leader now—_ before sending the message and switching the device off. He set it back on the bedside table and slipped back underneath the sheets, curling around the form of his still sleeping bed partner before he nuzzled into the thick dark curls that he’d grasped only hours before. Then he gently wrapped an arm around the other man’s waist, pulling him closer.

“Who was that?”

Bond smiled when he heard the sleepy voice, but ran a soothing hand down the other man’s flank. “Sorry if I woke you up, that was just my mother,” he murmured as he felt Q—Bond’s private nickname for the young man he’d found just after Bond’s induction—tuck himself back into Bond’s embrace. “She just wanted to know if and when she’ll finally get to meet you, I’ve told her quite a bit about you,” he said as Q finally turned around, looking up at him with the sleepy yet expressive hazel eyes that had captivated Bond almost right away. “Perhaps, when we return to Edinburgh, the two of us can sneak to London…unless you have to secure the leader’s permission first?” he suggested carefully, brow furrowing when he saw a shadow cross Q’s eyes. “Is something wrong?” he asked gently, tilting himself so that he could see Q better.

“Nothing…I…” Q shook his head, face scrunching up with embarrassment. “I just wish that my stepfather had loved me as much as your adoptive mother loves you,” he admitted quietly, Bond impulsively reaching out to gently brush back some of the dark curls from Q’s face. “I know you said it took time…but at least she warmed up to you. My stepfather always saw me as the intruder in _his_ house, even though Mum and I lived there first,” he whispered, turning to stare at the ceiling.

Bond nodded, careful to keep his expression neutral: Q had rarely ever spoken of his life before joining the syndicate during their daily late-night discussions over tea and coffee in the basement mobile computer station that Bond had found him lurking in despite the fact it was well past midnight. _He killed his stepfather in what he claimed was self-defense, I’ll never know for sure without his real name._ Bond reached over when Q started to turn away, gently tugging Q to face him again.

He gently rubbed Q’s shoulder when he saw the _fear_ in Q’s eyes, staring at the man, his only ally  and ‘friend’ within the syndicate, with the tender fondness he’d grown familiar with over the past two months. _I don’t want him to die in the inevitable crossfire._ Bond sighed as the thought occurred to him, that a small young man could slip past his defenses and remind him what it felt like to have a friend, to have guileless, even non-sexual, intimacy with another person. _M will kill me, but he’ll be a valuable resource to England…and to MI6. And he’ll be safe in London, where I can protect him if necessary._ “I could get you out of this life, if you wanted,” he offered after a moment, remaining calm even as Q turned to stare at him. “There’s just something I have to take care of first.”

“Oh? Like what?” Q asked, grinning as he rested his body on his side, pillow tucked between his hand and head.

“Tavers, for one. He’s been impressed with my record so far, he might arrange for me to be one of the leader’s two bodyguards,” Bond said, toying with Q’s hair when Q grinned. “I’ll try to get on the day shift, so that we can still see each other at night,” he added, grinning to cover up the twist in his chest at Q’s hopeful expression. _I don’t know how much longer that will last though, before I fulfill my mission and have to rush home_. “You may just want to ready to leave in a moment’s notice,” he said as an afterthought.

“All right…and thank you, James,” Q whispered, leaning forward to kiss Bond on the nose before snuggling closer, tucking his head underneath Bond’s chin. Bond closed his eyes and reached around Q and held him tightly.

_I won’t let you die this time._

He didn’t know if he spoke to Q or the ghosts of those he’d failed to save in the past.

_Knock-knock!_

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me,” Q growled under his breath, Bond instantly releasing him as the faint knocks on the flat’s door continued at a rapid pace. “It’s not even six in the fucking morning, and we’re not even leaving today,” he complained as Bond rolled out of bed with practiced ease, already searching for his gun amongst his clothes. “James… _James!_ ” Q hissed, catching Bond’s attention. “Just put your suit back on and look as presentable as possible, then follow my lead,” he said, already sliding out of bed and walking to the bureau. “And please don’t do anything stupid,” he added, already pulling on a fresh pair of pants and trousers as Bond began to pull on what pieces of his suit he could find.

“All right…who do you think it is?” Bond asked, keeping his voice low as he located and pulled on his shirt.

“I _know_ it’s Tavers, the bastard never sleeps,” Q said grimly, a thread of ice running through Bond’s veins at the name. _The second-in-command…I don’t want Q to get in trouble_. He looked up when Q threw something over his shoulder, hands forming fists in his hair as he searched for something. “But since it’s still so early, it must be a hell of an emergency,” Q finally said, pulling on a shirt as Bond located his socks and shoes. Q shifted in place as Bond finished getting dressed, and then passed over an unfamiliar gun before Bond could locate his Walther. “When we enter the living room, just keep the gun out as though you were expecting a hostile, especially when you open the front door,” he whispered before opening the bedroom door and ushering Bond through first.

Slightly confused, Bond obeyed, almost tempted to pull the trigger and eliminate Tavers as a problem as he walked over to the front door and reached for the doorknob. _But killing him would not only cut my only lead to the leader, but also make Q appear as a traitor and an accomplice…and I can’t do that to him_. Gritting his teeth, Bond opened the door, silently reveling in Tavers’s stunned expression when the other man flinched, his attention riveted on the gun in his face.

“Bond…what the _fuck_ are you doing here?” Tavers said, only shifting in place once he regained his ability to speak, looking up at Bond with the familiar scowl.

“I asked him to stay with me last night when Milton failed to report in,” Q said calmly from behind Bond. “Bond, it’s all right, you can let him in,” he said, smiling briefly when Bond looked back sharply at him.

Tavers narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything as Bond slowly stepped back, lowering the gun as Tavers walked past him, his coat glistening with water. Despite the confusion—and dread—growing in his stomach, Bond still turned to keep Tavers in sight as the man inclined his head towards Q, who was still missing a shirt of his own. “Milton is actually the reason why I’m here, sir,” Tavers said as Bond closed the door. “The Randall boys found his body washed up on the banks of the Seine less than an hour ago with strangulation marks around his neck and chains still attached to his ankles. Obviously, I have to treat this as a genuine threat to your safety, and strongly suggest that we return to Edinburgh immediately while I do a rundown of your recent security staff,” Tavers said, Q frowning at the mention of Milton’s fate.

_Of course._

_Q is in charge, but hides among his own people. That’s why we had no intel on him._

_Mission first._

Bond quietly withdrew the gun from its holster, steeling his jaw against the cold, sickly sensation spreading through his veins and stomach as he caught Q’s eye, the other still listening to Tavers as he spotted the gun disappearing behind Bond’s back. A soft inhale, and then Q turned back to Tavers, almost squaring his shoulders as he fell still. “We’re not leaving, Tavers,” he finally snapped, interrupting the tirade. “I won’t risk offending Draco over some ‘hunch’ you have,” he said, dismissing Tavers with a hand. “I’ll see you downstairs in an hour or so, Carson will take Milton’s place and Bond will replace Carson. There, problem solved,” he said, frowning when Tavers finally fell silent.

“Of course, sir.” Tavers inclined his head before turning to leave, narrowing his eyes briefly at Bond. “Congratulations on the promotion,” he said coolly before ducking past Bond, the door closing behind him with a loud _snap_.

For a moment, neither man spoke. 

“Do send M my regards, double-oh seven, next time you contact her,” Q said finally, voice calm yet controlled, something indeterminable flickering in his eyes as Bond froze at the call sign. Q looked down at his hands, brow scrunched up for a moment— _he’s upset_ —before he composed himself again, shoulders resting into what Bond had expected the syndicate leader to appear as: _calm, confident, and composed_. “We’ll be heading downstairs for breakfast once I get dressed, please excuse me,” he said softly before turning and leaving, closing the bedroom door with a soft _click_.

Bond slowly re-holstered the gun a moment later, feeling completely blindsided for the first time in his career at MI6.

_How much of it was real…and how much of it was an act?_

* * *

 

“May I ask you a question?”

“What sort of question?” Bond asked, careful to keep his voice low as he remained hovering at Q’s shoulder. The younger man had reappeared from his flat only minutes after Bond discovered his identity, walking straight past him towards the stairs evidently not caring whether Bond would actually follow him to breakfast. “If you’re about to ask me to spare your life, I’m afraid that’s not possible. So if I were you, I wouldn’t waste my breath or limited time,” he advised, raising a brow when Q turned in his seat to look up at him, brow raised. “What?”

“Actually, I was going to ask if you could sit down, you’re making Tiffany nervous,” Q said, nodding across the expansive kitchen table to a young tech that Bond had only met two days ago. “They’re not aware of whom I really am, only you, Carson, and Tavers know. They think I’m only the Quartermaster, which makes it easier for _me_ to move around unnoticed and unmolested,” he explained, pulling a chair out for Bond to sit. “Not to mention you can stay on top of the gossip more easily, I can’t tell you how many threats I was able to quietly take care of because some would confide in me, or demand that I use my computers to locate the leader,” he said, picking his fork and knife again as Bond grudgingly sat down beside him.

“Yet you didn’t stop me. Why?” Bond asked, accepting an empty plate from his neighbor as someone passed him one of the serving platters with sausages.

Q shrugged as he handed the serving tongs over to Bond. “I saw your file a few days after we met, I try to background check all newcomers,” he said, nudging the platter closer to Bond. “I then simply decided to wait, let you make your move first. I was a bit curious, as to who thought it was worth the effort sending a double-oh agent after _me,”_ he added, dropping his voice slightly. “I mean, this current weapons deal with Draco is hardly my first, and after watching Silva crash and burn, we both decided it wasn’t worth the time or effort to make enemies of MI6. So we continued operating under the radar, nothing too extensive or damaging that could be linked back to either of us.”

“Just _dealing_ in weaponry is enough to attract our attention,” Bond said, frowning as he glanced at Q, who raised an eyebrow before adjusting his cardigan.

“But why _now_ , why _me_ and not Draco?” Q asked, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “And I’m not asking you to go after him or reprimand me about life being unfair, I’m just pointing out that M’s reasons are completely generalized to the point that it could be _anyone_ ,” he said quietly, brow furrowing as he ignored the person behind him awkwardly tapping his shoulder. “My whole point is that _none_ of MI6’s reasons behind my death make any sense to me, so _please,_ do enlighten me if you can,” he said irritably, causing the person behind him to shrink away again.

_“Now_ you’re nitpicking,” Bond said instead, nodding towards Q. “Scott would like the oatmeal, if you’re done with it,” he said, grinning slightly when Q jumped and turned, tilting his head apologetically as he passed the bowl with the serving spoon. When Q turned back to face him, Bond said, “We’ll be done with our business by the end of the day.”

“Mm.” Q hesitated, and then set his spoon down and leaned back in his chair, taking his glasses off to better rub the bridge of his nose. “James…before I die, at least, there was one other reason I didn’t do anything or report you to Tavers,” he said, glancing at the agent. “And I’m not hoping to spare my life, at most, I would like to just negotiate for four things before I die.”

_Oh?_ Bond raised an eyebrow, curious and wary; while failures to immediately complete the mission were common enough that he was accustomed to coming up with new ways to fix his errors on the spot, it was rare to nonexistent that he had a target calmly discussing his own death with Bond, much less negotiating for something. He looked away for a moment, attempting to untangle his own, lingering feelings for Q— _how much of his actions were real, and how much was an act?—_ from his mission priorities. He stared instead at his breakfast plate even as he felt Q’s eyes settle on his temple. “I can’t guarantee an agreement…but if you could request for four things, what would they be?” he asked finally, careful to drop his voice so that their neighbors couldn’t hear .

Q’s mouth twitched. “One, I would like seventy-two more hours, just to put my affairs into order before I die,” he said quietly, poking at his oatmeal as Bond raised a brow. “Ensure that Tavers is ready to succeed, continued financial support for my mother, little things like that,” he said, pressing on before Bond could interrupt with another question. “Then I have three questions I would like answered before I’m gone, mostly to satisfy my personal curiosity about matters that have bothered me for years now,” he said, frowning even as he reached for his spoon again.

“What sort of questions?” Bond asked, curious despite himself.

“That’s for me to choose and you to answer to the best of your ability, assuming you agree to my terms. For what it’s worth, I really have no motivation to evade this…whatever you have in mind, as morbid as it may be. Double-ohs are legendary for their hunting abilities, and that’s an extra source of stress I can do without,” Q said, offering a thin smile before taking a bite. Swallowing, he scrunched his face and muttered, “Where is the bloody sugar? I _knew_ I had a logical reason for skipping breakfast—”

“For what it’s worth, you’re the only mark I’ve ever encountered who is taking this _calmly,_ and supposedly has no further plans to escape!” Bond hissed, suddenly wary.

“Maybe because I always knew one of you would eventually catch up to me! I made peace with what I did, and then moved on with my life. I didn’t want to keep looking over my shoulder, and if you’re that worried about a trap, we can arrange so that I never leave your sight. James, there’s only so much I can do to assure you of my good intentions to cooperate. The rest, well, that’s whether you want to trust me or not, and I won’t blame you if you decide not to,” Q whispered, leaning close to Bond, who raised a brow, but then turned his gaze to Q’s own eyes.

For a moment, he felt as though the two of them were back in the basement computer site, exchanging stories over stolen food from the kitchens. He could be on the next flight home by this evening if he refused, leaving with nothing except a further hardened heart, he knew that Q could be using this opportunity to bide his time for an escape…

_Why are you asking me of the one thing I had already given you before you revealed who you were?_

_Because I didn’t ask, I didn’t think to put you in a place to test that trust. I didn’t think I would have to, I trusted you without realizing it, and it’s not your fault that I fell that easily. I had no reason to suspect you, and that one is on me, rather than you._

M was going to kill him when he returned to London.

“All right, starting now, you may have your seventy-two hours and three questions, starting now,” he said, just loud enough for Q to hear him. Q looked away from his conversation with Scott, eyes widened slightly in surprise. “ _Only_ , of course, on the condition that you remain within my eyesight for those seventy-two hours. Give me any reason to believe that you’re attempting to escape or alert Tavers, and I will kill you and move on. Understand?” he asked, catching Q’s hazel eyes again, slightly unnerved to find them still clear of any deception.

Q nodded. “I understand,” he said quietly, head tilting slightly. “Won’t your, er, stepmother disapprove?” he asked after a moment, gaze flickering to the now silent mobile clipped to Bond’s belt.

_She’ll kill me._ “She never approved of my methods before, I hardly see a reason to start behaving now,” he replied before going back to his breakfast.

He grinned to himself a moment later, without thinking, when he heard Q softly laugh.


	84. Chapter 84

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Q, may I ask as to what we’re listening to? I’ve never heard it before.”

“I dunno, I just found it…somewhere some time ago. It’s nice though, isn’t it?” Q said, eyes closed as he happily leaned against James’s warm chest. James’s familiar rough fingers were intertwined with his own, and a warm arm draped loosely against his waist and held him close as the two swayed to the violin and piano music coming from the speakers on the kitchen counter. He had a vague memory of starting to gather dirty dishes from dinner when he’d located the half finished wine bottle, music playing in the background to entertain him as he cleaned up. _Oh, and then James wandered in after finishing his phone call with M_. “You know, you never did tell me what M wanted,” he said, words almost unintelligible to his own ears as he turned to bury his face into James’s chest.

“He wanted a clarification on something regarding the mission to New Orleans. Apparently the man that I thought was my target and left trapped in the bayou was actually an undercover FBI agent. The real mark had died early on in the mission, when Felix and I blew up his warehouse,” James said, and Q shifted his grip so that he held onto two fistfuls of shirt before he felt James shift his arms to relax around Q’s waist, hands spanning around Q’s hipbones. “Not that Felix was complaining about the outcome, but then again, he has to face his superiors sooner than I did,” he said, smirking when Q grinned at him.

“I didn’t complain only because I didn’t have to deal with it,” Q replied primly, sticking his tongue out at James when the agent snorted. “But the M you got when you finally arrived home was a far cry from the M that saw the incident happen,” he said, allowing James to keep the swaying motion even as he gently wrapped his own arms around James’s neck, nudging the agent back a step or two. He smiled when James bowed his head and rested his forehead against Q’s, and then brushed a quick kiss against James’s cheek. “M was so angry that he had to walk out of the branch. Just set everything he was holding down on the workstation table and walked out. Apparently you are the only double-oh who is threatening to give M gray hair before his time,” he said, closing his eyes and scrunching his face as James kissed his nose.

“And here I was, thinking that I was just doing my job,” James said as Q leaned against him, forcing him back a few more steps. “Q, what are you—”

“Couldn’t reach my glass from where we were,” Q said, sticking his tongue out before reaching around James to snag the half-full wineglass off the countertop, checking the little ring around the stem to double-check that it was his and not James’s before taking another sip. James rolled his eyes but pulled Q a little closer, careful not to bump the glass against his body. “But honestly, I am glad that you are home,” he said, staring at the familiar warm blue eyes that he knew he saw every day yet each time, he felt as though he was seeing James again for the first time. He opened his mouth to say as much, only to stumble when he accidentally stepped on James’s foot, nearly spilling wine onto the floor and James’s socks. “Shit…”

“Whoa, careful there. But I am also glad to be home, even if it looks like we’re about to crash without doing the dishes again,” James said, glancing warily at the sink. Q followed his gaze, and then shrugged. He could deal with crusty dishes in the morning if it meant he didn’t have to leave James’s side now. 

He finished the rest of his wine with a final gulp, ignoring James’s raised brow as the agent anticipated his actions this time and gently led Q back towards the counter so he could set his empty glass beside James’s own next to the sink. Q leaned back and shifted his arm back around James’s waist and meeting with James’s hand with his own, allowing James to lead them around the small kitchen space. He blinked, slowing down a bit when his vision swayed just a bit, and then looked down at his feet. “We should do this dancing more often, even when it’s just a lazy Saturday afternoon,” he said, watching his movements to avoid stepping on James again.

“Assuming you get out of bed soon enough to do it,” James said, grinning unapologetically when Q looked sharply up at him.

“James, are you implying that I’m _lazy_?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” James said, still grinning as he leaned forward to kiss Q on the forehead, his grip tightening when Q stumbled yet again. “But maybe we should think about going to bed— _sleep_ , going to sleep,” he said when Q perked up with a grin. He smirked when Q pouted with the completion of his sentence, even twisting his body out of Q’s reach when Q tried to slip a hand past his belt to better communicate his want. “Nice try, but I had been getting ready to cut you off at dinner, and then we decided to have a second round of drinks after,” he said, pulling Q close so that their noses were nearly touching when Q tried to pull away, still feeling the sharp sting of embarrassment. “Q, I’ve told you before, I will not do anything unless you are sober and willing,” he said, Q suddenly recalling a conversation they had had early on in…whatever this was. Relationship. _Does he love me enough to call it that, or is it still just me?_

“Oh, right, sorry, I forgot,” he mumbled as he rested his head against James’s chest, closing his eyes as he felt strong fingers run gently though his hair.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. But let’s get ready for bed, it’s been a long day and we still have work tomorrow, last day before the weekend,” he faintly heard James say as he leaned against the comforting warmth, trying to ignore the faint pulse in the back of his mind. 

He didn’t remember falling asleep.


	85. Chapter 85

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

Bond only noticed the tail a few hours into the walk.

Instead of confronting his pursuer, he silently apologized to Q for being late to the arranged rendezvous for an equipment exchange, and turned a corner, ducking into a side alley once the other man couldn’t see him. Checking to ensure that the Walter was loaded, he flattened himself against the wall and waited, knowing that the stranger would either still try to follow or return back to his or her employer and report the loss of visual contact. The brick felt cold against his back, a minor discomfort considering he was most likely to make a break in his mission and locate the person who could lead him back to the mark.

_Q can handle me being a little late because I was working._

He silently switched the safety off as he watched the figure walk past the alley, the person’s collar turned up over their ears with a hat to cover the face. Quietly he re-entered the now busy sidewalk, allowing the growing crowd to swallow him up as he followed the figure, almost smiling to himself when he saw the man pause and look around, tilting his head slightly as though spotting Bond out of the corner of his eye. Bond couldn’t help but grin when the figure walked a little faster.

_Yes, keep running._

He only realized something was wrong when he recognized one of the crime boss’s henchmen appear out of nowhere, casually crossing the street before he easily intercepted the figure and knocked the figure’s hat off as the figure tried to struggle free.

_Q._

The quartermaster looked terrified as the henchman easily twisted an arm behind Q’s back, the latter saying something that Bond could neither lip-read nor hear. A jerk, and the henchman began to lead Q back towards the way he’d just come, Q bowing his head as he tried to discreetly look around the street, clearly seeking someone— _me_ , Bond realized with a jolt—before the henchman forced Q to look forward again.

Bond didn’t realize that he was moving until he realized how close the two of them were until he was almost to the other’s man back. He noted the nearest car parked on the curb before he walked up to the henchman and placed a gun against the man’s back, pressing the trigger before the man could turn in shock.

_Bang!_

Q visibly froze as people started screaming, but yelped when Bond yanked on his arm. “James! Thank God, I thought I’d lost you,” he said as Bond hauled him to the nearest vehicle, jumping when Bond shot the door lock.

“Q, what happened? We were supposed to meet up by the train station,” Bond said, frowning as he glanced around, pushing Q into the passenger seat before walking around the car to the driver’s seat.

“I know, I know, but one of the marks saw me as I was getting off, and he had me followed. I thought I lost him, and I tried to follow you so that I could catch you alone, but I lost you as well,” Q said, shedding the coat before diving forward for the panel underneath the steering wheel seconds after Bond sat down. “I don’t know how he recognized me, unless someone talked.”

“And you’re absolutely sure you didn’t recognize the man as anyone other than the mark?” Bond asked, raising an eyebrow as he unwittingly recalled Vesper Lynd, and her connections to Quantum that had ultimately spared Bond his life.

Q didn’t immediately reply, instead focused on hotwiring the car. “Yes, James, I’m sure didn’t recognize the man as anyone other than the mark,” he said, looking up steadily at Bond, meeting the agent’s eyes. “I’ve been threatened with at least three guns today, and two was before I lost my earpiece so I couldn’t get in touch with you to warn you about the leak,” he said crossly before he straightened in his seat, rubbing his wrists before buckling himself in.

“Would have been four, actually, if you had caught up to me,” Bond admitted as he pulled the car into traffic, speeding away right as the police arrived. “Speaking of which, I assume you don’t have the equipment that you were supposed to give me, right?” he asked, trying not to grin.

“James, they frisked me. Of course I don’t.”

“Good, because now you can’t blame me every time I lose equipment to frisk searches,” Bond replied smugly, laughing when Q smacked his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a quick reminder, all of these ficlets are usually posted to my Tumblr first, and then queued up for posting here, so it may take a bit of time before any continuations appear here. If you would like to look for the ficlets on my Tumblr, type in "mistflyer1102.tumblr.com" and then type 'mistflyer fanfiction' in the search bar.
> 
> Mistflyer


	86. Chapter 86

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None
> 
>  **Notes:** Continuation of [Chapter 54](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3464897/chapters/8485300)

“James?” Q said through numb lips, voice cracking on the word. “James…but, but how?”

“Shh, you’re all right, you’re safe, you’re alive, you’re fine,” James murmured in a soft voice, blue eyes darting across Q’s face as he continued tucking the robe in around Q’s shoulders. His voice was hoarse and had more etched lines than Q remembered, but every word and nuance in James’s facial expression— _pain, he’s in so much pain_ —ripped through Q’s heart as he almost closed his eyes to press back tears, changing his mind at the last minute out of fear that James would disappear again. Q risked a glance around the shadowy cavern, his heart constricting in worry when he failed to spot the dragon that had pinned him earlier. He gently tugged himself free of James’s fluttering hands, and pushed the robe off. 

“Q, you need to rest, I know you had a long ride to get here and using magic taxes your strength,” James began, already shifting back into a crouch when Q reached for him. Q could vaguely hear a soft keening sound as he reached for James’s shoulder, fingers closing around solid fabric resting on top of firm muscles that he’d memorized years before.

“James, you’re alive, you’re _real_ ,” Q whispered, burying his face into James’s shoulder. “I _missed_ you, I thought you were—” he stopped, physically unable to say the word, and instead huddled against James’s body, listening to the steady _thump-thump_ of the familiar heartbeat he’d fallen asleep against so many times in the past.

“Dead?” James supplied, rubbing Q’s back in soothing circles when Q flinched at the word. “Yes, so did I at first,” he admitted quietly, piquing Q’s curiosity. When he leaned back to look up and question James further, James only offered a sad smile before he asked quietly, “If you’re not going to rest, do you want to at least eat something?”

“What about the dragon?” Q asked, easily recalling the ease at which the golden dragon had pinned him there and left him against the cave wall. _Did James kill it or something, or did it just get bored and leave_?

“The dragon is of no consequence,” James said, interrupting Q’s thoughts. Something flickered in those familiar blue eyes, and Q nodded, looking down at his hands for a moment until James suddenly shifted his own position to cradle Q, his hands warm through Q’s tunic against his back as he stood up and held Q close to his body. 

“Did you kill it?” Q asked after a moment, watching James as the knight brought him over to the small campfire. Shadows danced around the cavern, the torches extinguished for now, but Q didn’t feel threatened. Not yet, and not with James so tangibly close.

“No.” James carefully set Q down, brushing a ghost of a kiss across his forehead before stepping across the fire to the small pile of saddlebags. Aston looked up as James walked past it, ears folding against its skull for a brief second before nickering softly before bumping its nose against Q’s knee. Q, however, turned his attention back to James as he drew his knees against his chest, watching as James searched through the saddlebags that he must have recovered along with the horse. The knight wore a threadbare tunic of his own along with faded trousers, clothes that Q didn’t recognize at all, as he pulled out a few provisions and passed them along to Q without a word. Q quietly accepted the food, still unable to look away from James as the years of loneliness and grief threatened to overwhelm him again.

“I thought…” he paused, breath catching in his throat when James looked up and met his gaze. “I…three years…you never—you were alive all this time, and you never once tried to contact me,” Q finally whispered, the hurt pulsating in his heart with each word.

“I couldn’t. I didn’t know where you were and I just…I just couldn’t,” James said quietly, offering a rueful smile as Q arched a brow in disbelief. “Aside from not knowing where you were, there was the, er, small matter of the curse that took me at least a year to adjust to before testing its limitations,” James clarified, voice steady as he held Q’s gaze. He quirked a brow when Q felt his jaw drop. _Curse?_

He didn’t realize that he’d spoken aloud until James let out a snort of amusement. “Yes, a curse. Whether you believe it or not, I got cursed just because I fell for the most basic trap in the bloody book,” James said, leaning back as Q slowly began to eat. 

“A sorcerer, then? Did he work for a particular noble who meant ill to Lady Mansfield, or did you _really_ irritate him?” Q asked hesitantly, studying James carefully as James gave a half-hearted shrug with one shoulder. _He doesn’t look different, but that doesn’t mean anything with curses._

“Not quite to either,” James said finally, leaning back on the ground before turning onto his side to face Q. “Since it was spring when I left, as you remember, I thought I would make better time to the capitol through the mountain passes. It was a last minute decision,” he said quietly, never looking away from Q.

Q nodded, still feeling confused. Curses, even for advanced sorcerers, were vastly different and more complex than the spells he’d learned under Master Boothroyd. _“In order to work, curses require a person’s will, their fully-committed desire to inflict harm on another. It costs you bits of your soul until nothing but an empty shell remains, and that is when you will be unstoppable.”_ He hesitated, and then said, “That’s how Aston knew to come here, to this mountain pass. Because he’d been there before, right?”

“Yes.” James was quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. “I found a man injured on the side of the road, helped him back to his cabin, as you saw in the valley just outside this cave. He introduced himself as Raoul Silva, and he asked that I give him medical treatment so that he could recover enough to treat himself,” he said, wrinkling his nose before shaking his head. “He asked under whom I served, and I said Lady Mansfield.”

“And he didn’t take that very well?” Q guessed, grimacing when James nodded.

“Not at all. He then said, ‘Perfect’, and said he’d been waiting for years to secure his revenge against Mansfield since she’d banished him from her small entourage years ago,” James said, his mouth twisting into a horrible parody of a grin. “Do you remember Master Boothroyd mentioning Tiago Rodriguez, ever?”

“Once, when he was explaining the history of our position in the household,” Q said, frowning as he thought back to that moment; he had been in the stairwell, waiting for James to leave the feast already when Boothroyd had passed him first. “He said that Rodriguez stepped outside Lady Mansfield’s orders and she had sent him back to the capitol…but what does that have to do with Silva?” he asked, frowning when James snorted in dry amusement.

“Silva _was_ Rodriguez, same man, different name. He cursed me then, saying that he would take away Lady Mansfield’s ‘favorite pet’ as revenge since he wasn’t sure if he would ever get a chance to kill any of his successors in the household…meaning you,” James said calmly, his words sending ice through Q’s stomach. “So he cursed me, and then I killed him shortly after.” Q gaped at him, and James shrugged before lying on his back. “His fault really, he should have thought his curse through. I had to figure out what was going on before I could even think to try and get through to you, and by the time I did…” he hesitated, and then pressed on again. “By the time I did figure out what was going on, it was almost two years later, and I thought you had moved on already,” he said, his voice almost inaudible as Q’s heart twisted for him.

“I didn’t. I kept training to find the thing that killed you,” Q said, brow furrowing as something niggled in his mind. “So if that dragon didn’t kill you…” he began slowly as he began to see the puzzle pieces nudging into place. “James…what exactly did the curse entail?” he asked, cold seeping up his limbs as his appetite slowly shriveled away.

“He turned me into a dragon so I couldn’t return home, so I burned his down, taking him with it,” James said bluntly, voice emotionless as he stared at the stone ceiling. “I never left the area, made this place my home over the next few months. I suspect travelers saw me, but I never engaged them. It’s only in the last few weeks that I’ve gotten the hang of turning back into a human for short periods of time, I think the curse weakened. I don’t know for sure.”

_And if travelers saw a riderless horse near charred cabins with a new dragon in the area, they would tell the next person they saw. Then someone made the connection to James, and the story came out that a dragon killed James. The magic wards are the curse on the dragon, and that would explain why it didn’t kill me and why it’s not here now._

_And I almost tried to kill him._

Q suddenly felt bile rise in the back of his throat, fear, guilt and black horror swirling in his stomach before he turned around to throw up.


	87. Chapter 87

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

“Q, do you have a moment?”

Bond didn’t move from the office doorway as Q looked up, momentarily surprised to see him. “Yes, of course…is something wrong?” Q asked, pushing his chair back as Bond slipped into the office, closing the door behind him. Bond didn’t answer, just crossed the office while maintaining eye contact with Q, who slowly stood up as Bond drew closer to him. “Bad mission? I lost the connection with you halfway through,” he said quietly even as Bond pulled him into a tight embrace, burying his nose into the familiar dark hair that he saw every morning when they woke up with Q tucked into Bond’s arms. _I don’t give a damn about what Mallory says about professionalism, I need this._

He moved to rest his chin on Q’s shoulder even as he felt familiar hands gently caress across his back. “Do you want to sit down? I have a few minutes of lunch break left to go,” Q suggested, nudging Bond slightly towards the futon behind them.

“Only if you want to.” Bond still allowed Q to push him backwards towards the futon, leaning back initially to steady himself, but then leaned down to catch a kiss that Q had attempted to brush against his cheek. Q held him close with his arms wrapped around Bond’s neck, and Bond felt a familiar flash of urgency to keep Q close; he stamped it down almost right away, swallowing as he struggled to bring his worry back under control. He still caught the minute frown in Q’s eyes as the latter pulled away to better maneuver him onto the futon. Bond flexed his jaw when Q let him go, but waited until Q sat down on the end of the futon facing the office door and crossed his legs. “How were things here while I was gone?” he asked quietly, sitting down on the futon as well, never looking away from Q.

“Quiet. Double-oh four got stuck in a live crossfire on a crime boss’s private yacht, and then double-oh six had to go and nearly blow it up while rescuing her,” Q said, propping a pillow up between his back and the futon armrest. “R said you achieved your mission objective with no difficulty whatsoever, just in that you didn’t call us for any kind of assistance,” he remarked as he nodded once towards Bond.

Bond shrugged. “I didn’t need help. Your med-pack toolkit worked beautifully, and I didn’t encounter any injuries that could have blown my cover,” he said quietly, swinging his legs around onto the cushions before leaning back and resting his head in Q’s lap. He adjusted his body into a more comfortable position before he closed his eyes, Q’s fingertips resting gently on his forehead and gently brushing towards the back of his head. “Objective was achieved, no collateral damage sustained, and no witnesses left behind,” he recited, almost seeing the faces of the three witnesses behind his eyelids, heart quickening briefly at the memory of seeing the twisted anger on the second-in-command’s face as he screamed at Bond.

“But…?”

“But?” Bond repeated as Q’s fingers stilled on his temples.

“I sensed a ‘but’ in there, so I thought I would ask. So, but?” Q prompted, making gentle circles against Bond’s temple with his thumbs before he started to run his fingers through Bond’s short hair again.

“But…but I don’t think that the organization is quite dead. The second-in-command and the leader are dead, but the former…” Bond paused, steeled himself for the next part, his throat tightening with the familiar memory of the scream of rage seconds before the gunshot that would end the second-in-command’s life. “The second-in-command swore that all I loved would suffer because I killed the leader. Normally, I wouldn’t care, because normally, I wouldn’t have something to lose,” he said, Q’s fingers stilling in his hair. For a moment, he saw Vesper and M against his eyelids, but he remained silent as he felt Q sigh and the fingers resume in his hair. “If Mallory hadn’t summoned me back to London, I would have gone on to find out what happened to the rest of the organization,” he said when Q didn’t immediately speak.

“And how long have we been dating, _in secret_ , I might add?” Q asked, a tinge of humor audible in his voice. Confused, Bond opened his eyes to find a light touch of amusement in his hazel eyes.

Bond felt his mouth twitch. “Eight months,” he replied, offering a brief smirk when Q blinked at him. “And no, I haven’t been keeping track.”

“Could have fooled me.” Q resumed running his fingers in gentle, swirling patterns through Bond’s hair. “It could be that he was bluffing, trying to rattle you into doing something rash that would give away the location of someone you held close,” he mused aloud, his voice a soothing balm against Bond’s raw nerves. Bond closed his eyes again, quietly enjoying the familiar warmth of Q’s body as exhaustion finally began to settle into his bones.

“I’m a double-oh agent of Her Majesty’s Secret Service. I don’t make rash actions,” Bond said, mouth twitching when he felt and heard Q’s snort of disbelief.

“Right. And while we’re at it, I hacked into the Pentagon and found out that Area 51 is real,” Q muttered under his breath, body shifting slightly underneath Bond while his hands maintained the steady rhythm against Bond’s skull.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Bond said without opening his own, grinning when he heard Q groan.

“Yours are closed. I did not roll my eyes at you.”

“Liar.” Bond opened his eyes again and reached up to wrap his arms loosely around Q’s neck and pull him down for a kiss. “You know how I feel about liars, my dear Quartermaster,” he said, grinning as Q scrunched his nose up before leaning forward the rest of the way and pressing a kiss to Bond’s nose. “Do you know what I do with liars when I catch them?” he asked against Q’s lips as the latter curled forward for another kiss. 

“Enlighten me,” Q said, grinning as he sat back, giving Bond enough room to slowly turn over onto his stomach and pull himself forwards so that the two were nose-to-nose again, this time with Q pinned against the armrest. He squeaked when Bond reached to prop himself up with his hands, accidentally losing his own balance and sliding slightly underneath Bond. “James, just not in my office, I’ve only got ten more minutes before my lunch break is over,” he said even as Bond followed him down.

“And who will be checking that you’re actually working?” Bond asked, grinning as he shuffled back when Q tried to push his chest away.

“Mallory will,” Q said, laughing when he tried to escape the futon only for Bond to catch him around the waist and pull him back onto the cushions. “You can be such a horrible influence, James, did anyone ever tell you that?” he asked, eyes fluttering closed as Bond gently rested him on his back and leaned down to begin kissing and nosing the delicate skin across his exposed neck.

“As long as I’m the only one,” Bond murmured against Q’s throat, smiling to himself.


	88. Chapter 88

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None
> 
>  **Notes:** Continuation of [Chapter 40](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3464897/chapters/8211535)

“Ah, ah, ah, ah- _choo!”_

Q’s body jolted from the force of the sneeze, and his eyes flew open as he pushed himself up into a sitting position as his fingers sank into soft, thick fabric that was completely alien to his own flat. He glanced around the room, taking in the blurry grays and whites from bare walls and fuzzy brown of a bureau on the opposite side of the room from where he lay sprawled on a massive bed— _one that’s too big for even my bedroom._ With a sinking heart and increasing guilt, he glanced around again, heart thudding in his chest as he realized that he was most definitely not in his room. Ignoring the aching muscles in his arms and upper torso, he leaned forward and pulled his glasses off the bedside table, glancing first at the digital green numbers of the bedside clock as he slipped on the glasses.

_09:20_

Q felt something drop into the pit of his stomach— _I’m late for work_ —before he realized that he had not heard his mobile ring. Heart thudding in his chest, he glanced around the unfamiliar bedroom only to stop when he saw the Walther PPK still sitting on the other bedside table, its barrel still nicked and scored from its use in the Sahara Desert.

_Gun. James. Fire alarm. There was a fire alarm at my place, and now I am in James’s place. Damn._

With a groan, he curled in on himself to stifle another sneeze before dragging himself out of bed, mouth twitching at the lack of trousers—he’d shed them the night before, just to have something vaguely clean to wear in the morning—before he slowly knelt to check under the bed and pull them out from where he’d dropped them right before sleep. James would never let him hear the end of it otherwise…

_Three Double-Os and the place is somehow standing. Hallelujah._

Finally locating his trousers underneath the bedside table, he slipped them on and cautiously padded towards the bedroom door, a small curl of guilt twisting in his gut at the recollection of James having slept on his couch the night before so that Q could have his bed. Shaking his head, he leaned forward and pushed the bedroom door open.

_Creeeeeaaaaaak._

Q remained absolutely still in the threshold, staring at the closed guest room door as he held his breath, listening for not only any other signs of life within the flat, but also the three assassins that were theoretically there, if he remembered last night correctly. Given that it was quiet except for the muted honks of cars on the street below, the assassins in question were either dead to the world in sleep or were quiet themselves, waiting for a potential threat to wander by to their resting places. Q glanced down the hall to ensure that he wasn’t about to trod on or past someone, and then cautiously slipped out into the hall, leaving the bedroom door open just to avoid the creaking from earlier.

“Hello?” he called softly, wishing for a moment that he’d brought a blanket or at least something to lean on for support; his head swam slightly with each step, and he could feel the beginnings of a headache between his eyes. “Hello? Scarlett? Alec? Please don’t tell me that I’ve got to— _achoo!_ —wake James up in order to get the two of you out of jail just because Alec chose the wrong moment to irritate someone at four in the morning,” he muttered under his breath, grimacing at the unpleasant jolt in his stomach at the reminder. “Shit…I was supposed to be in work three hours ago…which one of you took my bloody mobile,” he muttered under his breath as he reached the end of the hall, wavering slightly on his feet until he leaned against the corner of the wall for support, head spinning enough so that he couldn’t immediately remember what he needed to get to work as soon as possible.

_Mobile to call M. Keys to get into own flat and office. Cat. Can’t forget the cat._

Pressing an open palm against his temple, he gingerly tiptoed towards the couch, spotting the edge of a sleeping bag peeking out from the end of the couch closest to him. Very, very slowly, especially when he finally caught a faint wheezing sound coming from the other side of the couch, he rested his hands on the back of the couch and leaned forward, tilting his head to get a better look at the person…and saw nothing but a blanket-covered lump on the cushions, the form hidden from view up until the shirt collar and neck. 

Q groaned aloud when he looked at the person’s face only to find that at some point in the night, Missy had left her hiding place and settled down on top of the person’s face or side of the face, and had gone to sleep during the night. She perked up when Q moved closer, and then he stopped when she yawned and stretched; he knew from experience how sharp those claws were, so he could only grimace as she stood up to stretch her body. Familiar blue eyes near one of her paws, narrowed with irritation, caught Q’s attention then, and he sighed when James raised a brow, but didn’t attempt to dislodge the cat off his face.

“To be fair, I did offer to take a cab home,” he said, leaning on the edge of the couch as Missy settled down again, this time farther up James’s head so that her paws rested on his forehead while her body spilled onto the couch armrest.

“Mm, that you did. Does she always do this?” James asked, risking a glance towards her only to pause when she shifted her position.

“Not really. I can pick her up, if you want,” Q said, smirking when James looked back at him. “For a price, of course,” he added, resting his chin on his fist.

James narrowed his eyes, mouth thinning into a line. “And, dare I ask what that price is?” he asked after a moment, shifting his body to free his arms from the blanket.

“Tell me where my mobile is, and then help me get to work,” Q said, inhaling sharply as he felt another roll of nausea in his stomach. He took a step away from the couch, bowing his head to avoid the risk of getting sick on James, and then swallowed back the bile and returned to his spot. “So where is it?” he asked, squaring his shoulders when James arched a brow at him.

“In the kitchen, in the jar on the shelf above the stove,” James promptly replied, raising a brow when Q narrowed his eyes at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” With a final glance over his shoulder, Q used the back of the couch to steady himself to walk around the furniture towards the kitchen. He paused by the sleeping bag, noting the tuft of blond hair at the other end before shifting his concentration into his next step. He reached out to balance on the door frame when he finally got close enough, and then kept a hand on the wrap-around counter that circled around the small kitchen. It took him a few more seconds to locate the small stove sitting innocently next to the kitchen sink. He glanced up and, with grim satisfaction, spotted a dark green jar sitting on the shelf.

_Finally. Now I just have to get there._

Q took a deep, yet slightly shaky, breath, and then began making his way to the stove.

_RRRAAAAOOOWWW!_

_“Fucking hell James! You just threw the bloody cat on me!”_

Q jerked sharply and started to run back towards the door frame when James abruptly appeared, cat-free, and easily caught Q around the middle right as Q nearly crashed into him. “I called M last night to let you go in later, although given that you looked like you were about to be sick all over me just now, I’d recommend calling in for a sick—” James stopped speaking and leaned over right as Q felt his world tilt and the bile re-surging into his throat. Somehow, Q didn’t—couldn’t—see how James managed to get the rubbish bin underneath him in time for him to be sick.

“Definitely a sick day,” James said, Q barely hearing his words as he remained still, suspended with only James’s arm for support. “You must have caught something last night when the fire alarm went off,” he said gently, hands surprisingly careful as he rubbed Q’s back.

Q groaned, reluctantly leaning onto James for support as he felt his stomach roll again.

_That’s it, I’m hunting down the moron responsible for the alarm last night._

* * *

“It won’t be long, I’d make the death quick. No one will find— _ah choo!”_

“Good luck with that,” James said almost absent-mindedly, his weight pinning the duvet down to the mattress and keeping it tight around Q’s body as the agent leaned over with a thermometer. He checked the digital display, pressed something that made a small _beep_ , and then used the end to poke Q’s tight-lipped mouth. “Q, the sooner we take your temperature, the sooner we can make you better. Then you can go find the moron and do whatever questionably legal actions you were threatening earlier,” he said patiently as Q scowled, nearly yelping when James took advantage of the gesture to stick the thermometer into Q’s mouth. 

Q flipped James off as James stood up, blue eyes carefully studying Q as though silently daring him to escape. The flat was now quiet, with Alec and Scarlett having left for MI6 earlier that morning. Alec had told James he’d pass along the news to M, who would undoubtedly be irritated. _Although it’s a wonder James hasn’t been called in yet_. Q screwed up his energy to speak, but only managed another coughing fit that stretched deep into his chest and throat, the dull aching pain flaring in his ribs as he flopped his head to the side, letting out an undignified thin whine as he tried to seek out a cool patch of pillow.

“M called,” James said as he leaned back on a hand, watching Q, who perked up at the mention of the director. “Alec told him about what happened last night, so M’s sending O’Reilly over around mid-afternoon to take a look at you. Of course, this is barring any mission-related medical emergencies, I was told to expect either Ellen or O’Reilly today. In the meantime, I’m to keep an eye on you,” he said, frowning as he leaned forward to press the back of his hand against Q’s forehead. “Although I don’t think I need a thermometer to know that this is bad.”

_No fucking kidding, I just want this to be over_. Q stared at him, half-focused on James’s words as he tried to assess the level of nausea rolling around in his stomach. He let out a small whimper, shrinking into the heat of underneath the duvet as James felt along his forehead again.

“I’m going to get a flannel, you’re heating up,” James said finally, mouth turned down into an odd sort of frown that Q had never seen from him before. “If you need to be sick,” he said, leaning down over the side of the bed and coming back up with a rubbish bin. “I’m leaving this right here on the floor, don’t hesitate if you have to, even if you still have that thermometer in your mouth,” he said, never looking away from Q even as he set the bin down.

Q nodded, stomach still rolling.

James gently squeezed his wrist with an almost affectionate expression— _since when does double-oh seven ever do anything ‘affectionately’ to someone who isn’t his mark or latest bed partner?_ —before getting up, stepping around Missy as he left the bedroom. Q closed his eyes, his chest hurting with each breath, briefly considering the temptation of just stripping down to bare skin to alleviate some of the heat until he numbly recalled that he was still in James’s bed. _It’s hot in here, it’s too hot in here._

_Brrrring! Brrrring!_

Q jerked up, head swimming and muscles aching as he forced himself to sit up at the sound of a phone ringing somewhere in the flat. He heard James’s footsteps leave the small living room and head to the landline on the other side of the kitchen, and then rolled over in bed to stare at the window that overlooked the London streets below, namely at the few flags that were attached to the building. He absently pulled the thermometer out as he studied the flags, not bothering to check the display as he frowned: the flags seemed to be fluttering in an unseen wind.

_Wind. Blowing air. Cool air. Cool._

Ignoring his screaming muscles, Q scooted to the other side of the bed, ignoring Missy’s mewls as she jumped up onto the opposite side of the bed. He stared at the window as he gingerly placed both feet on the floor and then took one wobbly step after the other, gritting his teeth to steel himself for the six or seven paces to the window. He felt his nose itch, and he immediately reached for the wall to brace himself.

_“AH-CHOO!”_

His shoulder protested the sharp jerk of his body, but he managed to steady himself and _not_ keel over as he’d feared. Q grimaced when he realized that the sneeze had jolted the nausea in his stomach, and he clamped his mouth shut in fear of being sick again. He closed his eyes, unaware of how long he stood there until the nausea passed, and then walked forward on unsteady legs for the window. He tugged his shirt away from sweaty skin, and then reached for the window latches, unsurprised to find that it was locked. Steeling his arms, he picked at the latches until they finally came loose and he pried the window open, breathing an inaudible sigh of relief as a blast of cold air hit him in the face and the front of his body— _it’s going to rain again soon._ He closed his eyes, using the window frame to brace himself as he reveled in the cold air against his sweaty body, barely focused on the fluctuating nausea.

Q didn’t know how long he stood there until a pair of large, gentle hands grasped his ribs, the shock causing Q to flinch with a half-muted squeal as James leaned over him and pulled the window closed again. “I know you’re hot, but you’ll get chills next if you keep that up,” he murmured as he kept one hand on Q’s back before bending over slightly to easily scoop Q into a bridal carry. “Then O’Reilly will have yet another reason to have my head,” he said, quirking a sad smile when Q whined, jumping at unexpectedly cool fabric when James set him down on top of the duvet instead. He twisted around in time to see James pull the sweat-soaked pillow off of the bed before moving to kneel over Q. With practiced hands, he reached around to push Q towards him, tucking him against his chest with one hand as he moved the clean pillow out from under the duvet before lowering Q again. “I’m going to get you a bed-sheet, so that you can still have a cover of some kind but be on top of the duvet,” he said, walking backwards towards his linen closet, his blue eyes never leaving Q.

Q tried to preen, just for a moment, just for a laugh later, pretending that James was watching him for _him_ , not because he wanted to ensure that Q wouldn’t climb out of bed again. His head swam, and he immediately fell still again, unsure if there was a little sadness swirling in the uncomfortable mixture. _He doesn’t see me that way, anyway. He’s just doing this as an intense favor for a colleague_. “You…you do that…I’m…I’m going to…go throw up,” he muttered, using his last few iotas of energy to turn himself over so he wouldn’t be sick all over himself and the bed again.

James was fast, appearing with the rubbish bin with a few moments to spare.


	89. Chapter 89

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None
> 
>  **Notes:** Continuation of [Chapter 73](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3464897/chapters/8786008)

“Wait, so Alex, how old were you when you met Tyler at that resort—”

“Eighteen, and it was during a school trip,” Q interrupted, his fingers twitching before folding them tighter around the stem of his champagne glass until Bond reached for Q’s knee underneath the table and gently squeezed it in quiet reassurance, not releasing his hand until Q’s grip on the fork fully relaxed. “And it wasn’t even a serious thing, he and I just kept writing to each other after, but nothing ever came out of it,” Q said, glancing at the dance floor where several members of the wedding party, including his mother and uncle, had joined the bride and groom. “It turned out he was only doing study abroad in London for several weeks, and he had to go back to the States in December,” he said, voice barely audible over the nearby orchestra.

“Ah, all right, I get it now,” Mara said, eyes darting to the dance floor as well before she settled her attention on Bond, who mentally braced himself despite feeling oddly exposed. He had taken his suit jacket off after Q’s younger aunt, Pamela, had asked him shyly for a dance (something Q hadn’t minded at first only because Emily and César remained at the table to act as a buffer between Mara and Q), but he’d left it off only because he still felt hot from the close quarters. “So, James,” Mara said, offering an innocent smile that Bond saw right through. “You may or may not have known this, but I got married several months ago to César, and Alex was present as one of the groomsmen. Were the two of you dating then? Back in March?”

“Yes, we were,” Bond said before Q could speak; he could see the twitch in Q’s jaw that usually ended in a lecture or shouting match with a misbehaving Double-O. “We’ve been together for almost three years,” he said, Mara’s jaw dropping open as Q mirrored her reaction, his glass slipping a bit in his grasp.

“ _Three years?_ ” Mara nearly shouted; as it was, she drew the attention of a few people sitting at Table Five. “Alexander Bryant Winfield, why the hell didn’t you _say_ something when I tried setting you up with someone at weddings?” she demanded, turning to her nephew, who shut his mouth before she could see his surprise. “I mean, Tim specifically asked me if you were seeing someone, and I said no, I bloody well _encouraged_ him to talk to you! If I had _known,_ I would have stopped trying to push someone at you all the time, I just don’t want to see you _alone_ for the rest of your life. Emily is nicer about it, but she doesn’t want to see you alone either—”

“I just didn’t want to scare James off—” Q began, but Mara plowed on.

“Not to mention, oh my God, James, I had no idea that the two of you were seeing each other for that long, you must think I am this horrible woman—”

“Oh no, not at all, I think that you and Emily are very attentive to Alex, making sure that he’s happy,” Bond interrupted gently, giving Q an encouraging smile before turning back to Mara. “And we go at a pace that’s agreeable to the two of us.”

“That is so sweet,” Mara said, ignoring Q’s snort of disbelief. “Well, in that case, do you two think you’ll ever get married yourselves? And if so, when?” she asked, ignoring Q, who promptly choked on his champagne.

Bond turned to assist Q, but the other man cleared his throat before Bond could do anything. “Uh, we don’t know about that, yet, Aunt Mara,” Q said, tripping over his words as he finished the rest of the champagne in one gulp. “James, may I have this dance?” he asked, studiously ignoring Mara’s raised eyebrows as he stood up and faced Bond.

Bond didn’t even read the silent plea in Q’s eyes. “Of course. Please excuse us,” he said, directing the last part to Mara, who raised her hands as though in surrender.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, go right on ahead,” Mara said, grinning even as Bond stood up and took Q’s hand. “I’ll be just fine right here,” she called after them.

“Yes, just fine analyzing every other move we make,” Q muttered under his breath as the two of them stepped out onto the dance floor, cheeks turning pink as he seemed to realize that the tables surrounding the dancers still had guests present. “Oh God, her running through my private life and then me getting yelled at like that was mortifying…”

Bond glanced over his shoulder and noted that Emily was sitting at another table, talking to another couple as César picked up two more wine glasses at the (open) bar. “I didn’t think that was too bad, but to be fair, I wasn’t and probably will never be on the receiving end of an interrogation similar to that,” he said, grinning slightly when Q scowled. The two of them fumbled for a moment between the lead positions before Bond nudged Q’s legs so that they could both settle into a modified position, and Q’s cheeks burned a bit brighter when he glanced behind him once to spot Mara watching them

“That’s because there will never be a rehearsal dinner where Mara can sit down with you and ask about previous partners!” Q finally snapped quietly, a shadow crossing his eyes too quick for Bond to analyze, distracted as the agent was by the unexpected sting from Q’s words. “She would _lose_ it if she knew how many women you knew before me—”

“Only two, I have ever taken seriously,” Bond interrupted, catching Q mid-tirade. “The first one isn’t in MI6 files, because I met her during my time in the Navy,” he quietly explained, Q watching him as they settled into a modified dance in their corner of the floor. Bond felt the corner of his mouth twitch at the memory, and he could see Q’s barely disguised curiosity on his face. “Her name was Tracy, and it was just my luck that her father was the head of Union Corse,” he said, grinning slightly when Q’s eyes widened. 

“ _The French mafia?_ ” Q whispered incredulously, almost starting to shake his head when Bond nodded, still grinning.

“We had a lovely summer together, and then she stayed in touch when I had to leave in the fall. Her father was wary of me, mostly because I wasn’t prepared to leave the Royal Navy for her and he didn’t want any association with British military,” Bond said, almost able to picture the worn letters he’d kept even after he left the Navy. His mouth twisted when he remembered they had disappeared with his possessions after Istanbul, and he had never been able to recover them

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?” Q asked carefully, watching Bond, who shrugged with one shoulder.

“Her father wanted to secure an alliance with an influential Italian, and so she and I parted ways. I deliberately avoided looking up any information on her, to help let her go.” Bond heaved a sigh as Q stepped slightly closer to him as the music slowed into the next song. “I then met Vesper in 2006, and met you six years after that,” he said, gently tugging Q a little closer so that he could nearly rest his forehead against Q’s. _Easy Bond, it’s all for appearances’ sake, it doesn’t matter that you don’t want it to be an act._ “Nearly three years ago today.”

“Ah, that’s where the three years came from.” Q hesitated, and then sighed. “You know this will throw a rock into your break-up plan later, right? Three years together and suddenly we break up for no reason?” he whispered, carefully avoiding Bond’s gaze by gingerly leaning forward and resting the side of his head against Bond’s chest, still moving in the gentle sway of the music without following a definitive pattern. Bond glanced at Mara, to see if she was still watching them, but she was now merrily talking with César. “And the breakup can’t be of commitment issues. Mara will think that it’s her fault and for one, I don’t want to do that to her and two, it will make her try harder to set me up with someone after,” Q said, carefully flipping his head so that he faced away from Mara as he spoke.

“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Bond said, momentarily frowning at the way each word pulsated dull aches in his heart. _I can’t be with him because he’s my superior officer, and I live on borrowed time as it is, I can’t do that to him_. He kept his mouth closed as they continued to sway gently with the music, not trusting himself enough to refrain from asking Q to dinner—on a realdate—as he found himself being lulled into a strange peace with the gentle music and Q’s warmth. 

He could sense the familiar scent of Q’s shampoo underneath the permanent Earl Grey and teas that seemed to cling to Q, and frowned when he realized that even after three years of working together, he did know Q better than one would know a superior, having run errands for Q when Q was ill and being the consistent visitor to Q’s bedside whenever Q landed in Medical because of a work-related accident. He knew from late-night comm conversations that Q had a weakness for horribly inaccurate sci-fi films and greasy take-away— _which he couldn’t have as a child because his mother (single parent and Missy’s original owner) feared for his health_. _Discovered his food allergies at an ex-boyfriend’s house by accident when he was twenty._

Bond nearly groaned in exasperation at himself.

_Friend. I’d rather keep him as a friend than risk losing him because we didn’t work out._

Bond unconsciously pulled Q closer, resting his chin on the top of Q’s hair. He only calmed down when he felt Q slowly relax in his arms.

_Just as a friend._


	90. Chapter 90

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None. However, I should mention that while this ficlet contains **zero** spoilers for Spectre, it _was_ based off a set photo from the film.

“M’s going to think we’re messing around,” R said as he sipped his coffee.

“We’re testing Q-Branch prototypes, we’re not messing around,” Q said, leaning back in his seat and propping his feet up on his workstation surface, remote control in his lap as he watched the camera feed leading into the middle of the five monitors he’d put up for this purpose. Four other members of his staff were guiding their own camera-guided drones in addition to his, five mechanical birds designed to mimic wood pigeons.He hoped to one day use the drones in order to smuggle cameras past enemy security in future missions for surveillance purposes. As of that moment, the drones’ range wasn’t as far as Q would have preferred, but given that it was a late Friday afternoon, he wasn’t in the mood to keep working on it.

He watched as the drones finally cleared the rooftops of MI6, soaring above the Thames. Keeping an eye on the distance gauge, he allowed his to dip over the Thames, drawing as close to the water as he dared. He was tailing R’s drone when suddenly a high-pitched beeping came from some of the monitors— _mine and Marcela’s_ —he noted as he glanced at his other neighbor’s screen. “Relax, that’s just the proximity alarms, we’re just getting close to a large object,” he said, ignoring a few rustles from the audience.

A slight rise, and he spotted the ‘object’ in question.

“Did we give permission to _either_ of them for borrowing one of the speedboats?” Q asked, abruptly sitting up as he moved his drone back to move out the way. Marcela yelped when water droplets splattered her camera, but her drone remained in the air. Neither Bond nor Tanner seemed to notice, laughing as they shouted to be heard while gripping the rail for support.

“Not really, but it wouldn’t have been difficult for Tanner. He just has to pull rank on the pilots and pray that we never notice or follow up on whatever excuse he gave them,” R said, balancing a tablet on his knees as he turned his drone around to join Q and Marcela. He glanced at Q, and said, “Is either of them still in our good books?”

“Mm?” Q said, momentarily distracted by James’s appearance, the coat reflecting the afternoon sunlight and highlighting the strong muscles he knew was underneath the clothing. “Oh, um, yes, all good books right now, but there’s no reason we can’t take advantage of it, we don’t know yet if M is aware that Tanner is messing with _our_ stuff,” he said, guiding his drone in lazy circles before pulling out his mobile. “Keep the cameras on Bond,” he said, tapping out a message— _Need help with the coat buttons?_

They watched as Bond said something to Tanner before jerking, signaling to the pilots to slow the boat down before pulling his mobile out of his coat pocket. “Well, at least he won’t lose the phone,” Q said after a moment as Bond’s eyes widened, and he looked sharply around, primarily at the SIS building façade.

“We could have blackmail for _weeks_ ,” R added, grinning as Bond and Tanner quickly exchanged words before they both started looking around. Q tapped out another message before he guided the drone closer to the boat, hovering near Bond’s face. Mindful that Bond would try to smack it out of the air, he sent the message— _M does know you’re both messing around with military equipment, right?_

Bond snarled something indecipherable to Tanner, more agitated than actually angry, and showed him the phone display before the two of them looked around, Tanner turning slightly pale. Q cackled when Bond finally spotted the drone hovering near him, confusion, suspicion, and irritation all warring on his face before he settled on ‘ _what the fuck?’_ , staring at the obviously-fake wood pigeon hovering in front of him. Q grinned before typing out ‘ _Smile for the camera!’_ , watching Bond elbow Tanner and nod to the camera. Tanner took Bond’s mobile, frowned, and then mouthed, _“It’s Q’s camera, I think.”_

Bond stared at the camera, and then mouthed “ Q?’

Q texted a photo of himself with a cheeky grin, adding the caption, _‘And my incentive for not reporting you both in to M?’_

Bond tried to lunge for the camera after seeing Q’s photo— _a sure sign that neither he nor Tanner got permission for this, liars_ —but nearly lost his balance before Tanner grabbed his collar and pulled him back into the boat. Bond swore when he spotted the other four drones, all five moving out of reach as he tried to reach for another. R snapped a few photos, the tiny white light flashing with each one, and Q snapped a few of his own as Bond shouted something at R’s drone, flipping them off as Tanner tried to bite back a smile, attempting to frown as though annoyed with Bond. _Almost could have fooled me, Tanner, but not this time._

“So we now not only have blackmail against a double-oh agent, but also our own Chief of Staff…how should we handle the blackmail?” Q asked, glancing at his audience.

“Hide the evidence first, Tanner _will_ pull rank to get those pictures and Bond gets in wherever the hell he wants,” R said. “And hide the drones, he’ll tear those apart for the photographs. I can hold onto everything.”

“Or we spread them out, increase our chances of winning,” Marcela suggested.

“We’ll spread the evidence out over London,” Q said, grinning as he gestured for R to go collect the five drones back into their boxes on the MI6 rooftops. “Let’s get the evidence back first.”

 


	91. Chapter 91

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** None

It took three hours for his prey to arrive to the restaurant.

Bond slowly sipped his vodka martini from his seat in the corner booth, blue eyes carefully scanning each person that walked into the upscale Parisian establishment. He only set the glass down when his prey walked into the room, head bowed as he listened to the animated chatter of his colleague before he laughed, attracting the attention of two more of his colleagues. Bond took a moment to hum appreciatively at the black suit that the other man wore; he was going to enjoy taking it off later tonight as he drew moans instead of laughter from the man. It had been six months since he’d last seen him, and it took all of Bond’s willpower not to get up and haul him out of the restaurant altogether.

_Manners, double-oh seven. Still in public with plenty of witnesses._

Bond’s attention soon slid from his prey to the shadow that hovered just out of sight _—too obvious, my friend_ —and he frowned, musing over the best approach that would not tip the shadow off.

“Is everything all right, monsieur?” the waiter asked, taking a step back when Bond turned his attention to him.

Bond considered the question for a moment, and then gestured for the man to wait as he pulled out his wallet. “Do you see the gentleman who now sits with his back to the Seine?” he asked without looking up.

He saw out of the corner of his eye as the waiter turned in time to see Q sit down with his back to the large glass windows that overlooked the Seine, still arguing lightheartedly with his companion. “Yes, monsieur. What about him?” the waiter inquired politely.

“Give him a vodka martini, shaken not stirred, and tell him it’s from a friend,” Bond said, offering the Euro.

The waiter hesitated, but then nodded, taking the money and disappearing with his tray. Bond leaned back in his chair and watched as Q tried to wiggle out of his suit jacket without looking away from the person speaking only to fail as one of his arms got caught in the sleeve. Then the waiter reappeared along with a stack of menus and passed the menus out before setting the drink down in front of Q. Q turned to refuse it, his mouth opening only to close when the waiter spoke quickly and quietly.

Bond’s heart twisted when he saw Q glance around the restaurant a moment later with a desperately hopeful expression on his face, and Bond shrank slightly in his seat and bowed his head. He looked up a few seconds later, taking in Q’s confused yet disappointed expression as he turned back to his friend. _I know it’s been six months since we last spoke and saw each other, Q, but give me a few more minutes._

Bond ended up waiting until the end of the meal, when guard excused himself to the restrooms before they returned to their hotel. Then he got up and silently followed the guard, careful to keep a distance. Using the electronic lockpick he’d saved from the mission, he waited until the man was in the restrooms before stepping forward and locking the door, smiling to himself at the soft _click_. He wasn’t as careless with equipment as Q liked to believe; he knew a useful tool when he saw one.

He jammed the lock, just in case, before heading back.

Q was nodding at something his dinner companion said when Bond returned to the salon and took up the guard’s former position. “All right, we’ll definitely have to email about that,” Q said as they all started gathering their coats. “Kyle, will you get the car?” he asked over his shoulder, not bothering to turn around. He glanced at the man near him and said, “We’ll have to continue this discussion in the morning, it’s a bit of a drive back to the hotel for me Good night, Mr. Ryder, it was wonderful being able to talk to you.”

“Of course, Mr. Winfield, send your employer my regards. Good night.”

Before Q could react, Bond stepped forward and gently tugged him away, earning a squawk of indignation. “What the hell do you think— _James?”_ he blurted, his jaw dropping open as he turned to fully face Bond. “James! You’re actually here!”

“The one and only,” Bond said, smirking as he ushered Q out of the room. He glanced in the direction of the restrooms and noted with satisfaction that the doors were still closed; there were actually two employees trying to unlock the door.

Q evidently saw the object of his interest. “Oh God, what did you do to poor Kyle?” he asked, pausing but started walking again when Bond nudged him.

“Calm down, he’s still alive, I just locked him in there. Not my fault that he was sticking out like a sore thumb earlier,” Bond said, wrapping an arm around Q’s waist. He frowned, and then asked, “Why did M entrust you with a _rookie_?”

Q rolled his eyes as the two of them walked towards the garage. “They’re trying to train the next set of field agents to be potential double-oh candidates, just to have a pool available just in case. Kyle was assigned as my bodyguard as I attended several meetings here in Paris, and he’d been in touch with R for this run. We finished tonight, and were supposed to be home tomorrow morning, but since you decided to arrive, I suspect that going home won’t be an option for a while.”

“Or we could keep training. They want practice? How about trailing a kidnapped executive who has a rather experienced operative for a captor?” Bond suggested as they stopped in the entrance to the garage. He pulled Q in for a kiss, nearly groaning when Q gripped his shoulders tightly to hold him in place.

“Oh God, James, I didn’t know when you were getting back, you should have fucking called,” Q whispered, his voice cracking. “I know you couldn’t have an earpiece but God, I missed you.” He kissed Bond once more before resting his head on Bond’s chest, nuzzling the fabric of Bond’s coat as Bond rested a hand on the back of his neck.

“Remember that the next time you send me off on a six month mission with no way of getting back in touch,” Bond said, grinning even as Q pulled away to look up at him. He pulled Q’s mobile from Q’s pocket and said, “Call M and tell him that I’m back, and in the mood to give the newcomer a little lesson in adapting to circumstances on the job.” He grinned when Q pulled him down for another kiss and then he whispered, “In the meantime, you and I will be enjoying a little vacation to ourselves, and can occasionally check in on the kid’s progress.”

“I should have known that you wanted to torment him,” Q said, grinning even as he dialed M’s office number. He glanced around the garage before he said, “Just take the keys, then, I still want the company car back.”

Bond nodded. “Will do,” he said before giving Q a quick kiss before guiding him to where he’d parked the Aston Martin.

**Author's Note:**

> These ficlets were originally posted to my Tumblr, and archived here. The only exceptions are the ficlets where the story arc expanded beyond two parts. These were later posted as their own separate stories Each chapter will begin with any ficlet-specific warnings. 
> 
> If you would like to see a continuation of one, or have a request, please let me know in either the comments or the ask box, here at: mistflyer1102.tumblr.com/ask.
> 
> Thank you, and I hope you enjoy the ficlets :)
> 
> Mistflyer


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